For some reason, this past Thursday, it seemed like a good idea to me to go get lunch with an old friend at the Carnegie Deli and then go get pizza almost immediately following. Let me tell you, that lunch was fucking SO GOOD, but seriously, even two hours later, I had a backpack full of pastrami and latkes and no appetite to speak of. Luckily, both Kevers and Ernie, who I was meeting, called to say that they'd be late. So after walking aimlessly for a little while, I went into a fancy clothing store and tried on white turtlenecks in the hopes that they would make me look like Steve McQueen, but no such luck. In my most dire moment of self-doubt, Kever called to say he was at Columbus Circle, so I donned my normal clothes, returned my sweaters to the rack, and headed over to meet him.
I have known Kever since we were both quite young. While we are both still fairly young, we are no longer as spritely and innocent as we once were. In the bar a few nights ago we tapped whiskeys and Kev exclaimed, "To adulthood... two adult hoods," waving his finger back and forth between us. Kever had a birthday recently, too, and despite being younger than me, I guess he is feeling his age a little. He is one third, (sometimes one fourth depending on where Michelle is) of great local(?) band Honky Horn and Bad Mouth, who's new LP he traded me for a potato latke, and although I thought he had gotten the better bargain at the time, I was quickly proven wrong when I got home and listened to it. Good luck finding a copy, but this record is fantastic.
When I told Kevin that Ernie had called ten minutes prior to say he was also gonna be late, he sighed, resigned, and said, "Well, you know we're gonna be here for an hour. Might as well do something." So we walked into Central Park, sat on a bench facing the bicycle path, and shouted "Pop A Wheelie!!" at every cyclist who rode by for 45 minutes, barring this one old guy on a snake fanged, severely weighed down cargo bike, because even if I was wearing fancy pants from my fancy lunch, I am still a punk and punks don't harass homebums.
Right as we began to tire of that activity, and right when some teen kids on skateboards decided they wanted to fight us (which surprised me, I would've thought they would've thought we were on the same team, perhaps I seem older than I thought), Ernie conveniently called and we went to meet him and have our first slice. Ernie deserves a lengthy introduction of his own, but I will save it for tomorrow's entry because I am running late already.
LJ Pizza. This place has a lot of character, but the pizza sucks. When I got here and took a picture of the outside, some dude hanging out was all, "ey, inspecta, excuse me, I was wondering why you photographed me."
I was like, "don't worry, homie, you're not in the picture. It's of the store. I'm a pizza reviewer."
"OH! Sure the store. A pizza reviewer. Right, inspecta, sure thing, inspecta."
I don't know what kind of knucklehead could possibly buy that I am a cop but whatever, people will believe anything.
This slice was bad. The dough had that lovely and discernable crackle when folded, but the top was not cooked sufficiently so it turned to mush in my mouth. The sauce tasted like ketchup to me and "sugary canned tomatoes" to Ernie. Ultimately this slice was slightly on the better side of mediocre, but totally not worth anyone's time or effort.
LJ Pizza - $2.00
754 10th Avenue
New York, NY 10019