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Nice Pizza

Last night, we were both bummed out about the travails of owning a motorcycle– the damn thing hasn’t run in weeks: first the shift rod fell out, now there’s an electrical problem (anyone who knows anything about bikes, feel free to comment)– so we went out for pizza down the street at Nice Pizza and $2 Wednesday night beers at Sweet Revenge a couple doors down. I love Bed-Stuy. When we lived in Windsor Terrace the only place to go when we were depressed was Rhythm & Booze, a bar for old people that played weird soft rock. Now we have decent food and two cool bars in walking distance.

Nice has decent pizza, and for $2-2.50 you get a plain or pepperoni slice and a little green side salad. It’s a pleasant place to sit, though it’d be great if they could turn on the damn air conditioning. Apparently the owners are French and Chris, who gets outlandishly cranky when hot, pointed out that like 14,000 of the French died in a heat wave only seven years ago because Europeans “aren’t into air conditioning.” Once we got beer and pizza, though, we both felt mostly better. The pizza would be awesome but for one caveat: the crust is like a cracker. It cracks everywhere when bitten into, leaving crumbs. It makes the pizza a little hard to eat. Thin crusts are nice, but they have to be a little bit pliable. But we’ll definitely still go back.

Sweet Revenge was fantastic last night. On Wednesdays, all day, they have $2 cans of Genessee Cream Ale and Bud Light. Genessee is disgusting. I forgot this last week, drank about four of them, and puked almost all night. This week I wised up and drank Bud Light, which was fine. Oddly, no one else in the bar was taking advantage of the deal (in fact, they all seemed like serious yuppies… this is Bed-Stuy. Huh?). The music sucked when we got there, but upon seeing us– with all our tattoos and Chris’s rockabilly hair– the bartender (who was wearing a t-shirt I covet, with Bed-Stuy written around a Misfits Skull with a Black Flag logo for teeth) put on some great punk rock. Chris freaked out when he played a song off of his favorite Rancid album (“Let’s Go”) and then he was inspired to go home and play Social Distortion’s “Story of My Life” on guitar when it came on.

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About Elizabeth

In no particular order, I am a writer, reader, wife, teacher, obsessive eater, and amateur home cook.

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