Moving to New York City was an absolute whirlwind. My then-boyfriend (now husband) and I were just starting out in our editorial careers as two kids in Philadelphia. New York was the place to be when it came to establishing a career in journalism. After two years of post-graduate struggling, he finally got an offer to be a full-timer. The catch? We had four weeks to find a place and make it happen.
We were in for a rude awakening. We searched dozens of apartments throughout Manhattan and quickly realized our budget was a lot tighter than we thought. After several depressing viewings, we took a 45-minute train ride from Manhattan to a quieter part of Brooklyn called Midwood, just a few stops away from Coney Island. It was roomy, it was affordable, and we decided it was worth the long commute.
The area was wildly quiet for a Saturday—which we would later learn was because it’s a predominantly Hasidic neighborhood—save for one place on Avenue J: Di Fara Pizza. The line wrapped around the block for this hole-in-the-wall takeout spot, so naturally, we had to check it out…