Twins Pizza - North Providence, RI - Review
There’s a certain smell that hits you when you walk into Twin’s Pizza. It’s not the corporate sterility of a chain, or the overly curated nostalgia of a trendy “throwback” joint. It’s honest: a mix of bubbling sauce and mozzarella, decades of incredible meals seared into the walls, and the faint scent of wood paneling and vertical blinds that haven't moved since the 1970s. The place doesn’t try to impress you—it just is.
In a world where every restaurant seems to be vying for Instagram likes or Michelin stars, Twin’s Pizza stands defiantly still, like a monument to simpler times. The dining room could double as the set of Mad Men if Don Draper ever felt like closing on negotiation with Lucky Strike or Hilton over a square pie. The jukeboxes tucked into the booths, the golden cone light fixtures overhead, and the mismatched salt-and-pepper shakers all whisper the same thing: we’re not here to be trendy—we’re here to feed you. And they've done that exceptionally well for 65 years.
But let’s talk about the pizza. Twin’s isn’t chasing Naples, New York, or even Chicago. This is Rhode Island pizza: unapologetically square, crispy-edged, and layered with intention. The sauce is the soul of the pie—bright, bold, and entirely its own. It’s a perfect harmony of ripe tomatoes and herbs, balanced between sweetness and tang. No gimmicks, no pretension. Just sauce that tastes like someone’s Nonna perfected it and passed it down through the decades.
The crust is a masterpiece in its own right. Somewhere between Sicilian and grandma-style, it’s sturdy enough to hold the toppings but never steals the spotlight. It’s crisp at the edges, airy in the middle, and just charred enough to remind you why you went with “medium well.” Then there’s the cheese: melty, golden, and playing second fiddle in the best way possible. The pepperoni is blistered and curling at the edges, leaving just enough grease to make you feel like a kid again.
Twin’s doesn’t rush, and neither should you. This isn’t fast food; it’s pizza that insists you slow down and savor it. Even the parking lot demands patience on a Saturday night, a challenge your parents probably faced when they were dating.
