You’re reading this post because at the time of writing I was (am!) desperately in need of a slice of pizza. (Note from future Sarah: I am now very happily full, with pizza.) My hunger is great because I had a lame lunch, but I met my writing buddy and so before heading out to get some pizza I thought I’d write a bit about pizza in NYC.
For my first few years in NYC, I lived in a big, poorly maintained apartment in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn, with friends. I’ll save our horror stories for when I get around to writing about the hellish process that is apartment hunting, but the neighborhood (and the cheap rent) almost made up for the apartment’s deficiencies.