Jia J.
Yelp
It was something I'd never done before, walk off the Prospect Park West spoke of the traffic circle at 15th Street-Prospect Park stop on the F,G line. Normally, I power walk to my apartment, eager to unwind from the work day.
On this particular evening, the lingering sunlight and balmy breeze inspired me to finally explore my new neighborhood before I leave for another one in a month.
I passed a strange hodgepodge of businesses; sushi place, brick oven pizzeria, dollar store, unisex hair salon, church, school, and so on. I couldn't put my finger on the pulse of this neighborhood, abruptly not South Slope at all but this foreign thing known as Windsor Terrace. The area reminded me of some bygone conception of outer limits New York City, but also exuded an obscure Californian vibe, perhaps because of the wide, emptyish, hilly streets and low, flat structures.
Actually, I was in the mood for a burger, but passed up cold looking delis, complicated looking diners, and a randomly expensive French leaning venue. Joe's Pizzeria was staring me down from the corner, but I obstinately walked farther, still holding out for meatier grub. I only lasted a few more houses before I realized that I felt like I was on the edge of the earth. Turned right around and walked into Joe's.
Two laid back dudes greeted me. I felt scrutinized by them, but only very mildly. The slices behind the glass looked horrendous; flat, congealed, and old. Of these, the oiliest (and therefore most promising, in this situation) selection was light on the sauce, and was spotted with generous dollops of ground beef and ricotta cheese. Dubiously, I ordered it. '$3.50 - not bad, but not good for the neighborhood,' I thought inwardly.
I asked to go to the bathroom. They pointed to a white paneled door that looked like it belonged in a house and was in a really strange spot between the main room and the kitchen. The areas around it looked not very well insulated; basically like an outhouse in the middle of the pizzeria. I frowned, disturbed. One guy swung open the door, and I realized it was actually the entrance to a stairway down to the basement, and there was a little hallway towards the actual bathroom, which was completely normal, and clean, as I recall.
When I came out, the pizza was waiting on the counter. I picked it up, sat down, and shoveled it down. It was damn good, and definitely different. The crust was on the lightly done side, golden and powdery, and therefore as delectable as fried dough without the sugar. Some raggedly dudes who looked almost too intense to be victims of the normal strain of the hipster epidemic came in, got plain slices (borrring - this almost ruined my time here), and rapped on about the few arcade game stations in the place.
Tuning them out, I tried to make my pizza last while staring at the light flooding through the wraparound windows. The workers stared, too, talking amongst themselves while looking outside rather than each other.
A nice breeze was at my fat back as I walked downhill for the few blocks to my home. Nice detour; felt almost healthy.
