You're stuffed but you start filling plate #3 anyway: Turkey, gravy, stuffing, gravy, potatoes, gravy, cranberries... Time to nap during the second game.
Vincent's excess has only one equal: Thanksgiving Thursday, 4pm. A large "pie" requires 4 to finish. Think Little Caeser's football field sized pizza with huge pepperoni chunks, probably a pound of cheese, and an outer crust edge alone equivalent to two loaves of bread. Salty as hell, cheesy as fuck, half-burnt and greasy enough to skip your 3,000 mile checkup; Vincent's is all things excess, nothing skimp, and nothing "Artisan". Just DELICIOUS.
The parlor is down to earth local charm, the slight working-class atmosphere showing it's edge. The staff push Heineken and Bud hard from tap and employ a motherly attitude calling you "honey" or "sweetie." You'll find families looking to chat and it's likely their kids all play baseball together. No flannel or skinny jeans in sight.
Totally unique in the burgh, totally unique anywhere. Far outside downtown but you must visit once while in town. Twice might be excessive.