Maybe it’s the water? I dunno. Probably is though, because that tastes like shit too. I used to be able to serve guests water from my faucet in Brooklyn and they thought it was filtered and hit with a touch of lemon. Now? It tastes like ass with a hint of paint.
So I had originally thought my commute would be the worst thing to happen to me after moving to luxurious and exotic New Jersey, but after a few months in the tank I have to say that I’m sadly mistaken. Fell in love with a Jersey Girl, whataya gonna do!
I cannot, for the life of me, find decent pizza. From what people tell me, I gotta go to “the right town”, well, in my world (Brooklyn), you shouldn’t have to travel more than 5 minutes to find a quality slice. I feel like I’m a bride shopping for a wedding dress. Every single time I enter another recommended Pizzeria I get a warm feeling inside … “maybe this is the one.” Well, usually, it’s fucking not. I’m not saying YES to any dress, but I am saying fuck this slice.
This whole damn thing got off to a terrible start to begin with. The first time my wife and I got Pizza from was our second day here. We had just moved everything into our house that we had from our apartment in actually luxurious and very affluent, Brooklyn Heights. We were exhausted, running on empty and I had already gotten lost earlier in the day trying to find a Dunkin Donuts when my GPS couldn’t navigate around a construction area that I’m pretty sure went the length of the entire state.
So we took the plunge, used my wife being pregnant as an excuse to shove carbs to our faces and decided to get Pizza.
I ain’t gonna name the place, because I don’t fuck with other people’s money, but I swear when I left the place I wasn’t too sure if anything was in the box. I legit asked my wife “did they forget the pizza?“. The pizza was that light and I knew I hadn’t gotten thin crust or a grandmas slice. As soon as I lifted the box I knew we fucked up. This was bowling alley pizza. It was meant for a 6 year old, not a dude in his 30s that has spent the majority of his life surrounded by the best of the best in the Pizza universe.
Now before you all call me a Pizza snob, you gotta remember that I come from THE Pizza capital of the world, Brooklyn, New York. Manhattan can kick rocks when it comes to Pizza. Brooklyn is King and it’ll never be debated, but if you’d like to debate, that’s fine, I’ll just embarrass you and whatever sad borough or state you reside in. Even the Pizza King himself Dave Portnoy over at Barstool anointed DiFara’s a 9.4 on both fucking slices, which were “not even piping hot”. It ain’t a coincidence, it’s just Brooklyn. Also, I’m sure Portnoy will never read this, but his rating of Spumoni Gardens was an embarrassment. If you gotta test the regular first, don’t even go. Whoever led you there didn’t do their research, it’s as simple as that. Erase the score from history. MOTHERFUCKING N’SYNC IN THEIR PRIME, I’M TALKING TRL WITH CARSON DALY PRIME, WENT THERE. JOEY FATONE’S FATASS WAS A FIXTURE. IT AIN’T A 7.9 … FUCK OUTTA HERE BRO. You go back there in the summer time when the birds are signing and block parties are runnin’ wild like Hulk Hogan in the early 90’s and then come talk to me.
Anyway, I just don’t understand why it’s so hard to make a fresh pie in New Jersey. Not only is the Pizza mediocre, but there’s legit never a fresh pie ready to go. I understand it’s later in the day at times, but how is it possible that every pie chillin’ on the counter top is bone dry or there’s only 1 reject Sicilian slice left? Good Pizzerias NEVER SLEEP. So for all you amateurs out there, if you roll into a spot and they don’t have hot pies on deck, something is up because a real gangsta spot is always ready to deliver.
The last thing is this. A lot of these places have “Brooklyn Slices”. Now, I don’t know if that’s a cheap attempt at legitimacy or that they may actually be “from Brooklyn’, but if you’re gonna do that, you better deliver. You also better have some motherfuckin’ Italians working in your spot. I don’t wanna see any red heads making my Pizza, you feel me? I know it’s 2019, but equality doesn’t exist when it comes to Pizza making. We ain’t all created equal. There’s Italians and then there’s the rest of ya.
And to have the balls to name a slice “Brooklyn” and it not be good? C’mon, dude. Have some respect and ask yourself this – have you ever gone into a pizza place and ordered “The New Jersey” slice? Don’t think so. Why’s that?
So listen, if you’re out there and you have the scoop, let me know. I’m desperate here. It’s bad enough the best food available to me during my commute is this sad spot at Newark Penn Station. At least Penn Station has Rose’s, which is pretty good for a place filled with homeless people, but I’m really not trying to rock a couple slices next to a stranger on the train.
Help me out.
Hit me up on Twitter @commutesucks or Instagram @yourcommutesucks