I never believed for one moment something so beautiful could come from Bedstuy, a neighborhood that was once plagued with high crime. In some areas, it still is. But this is the pretzel of hope!
On a Sunday afternoon, I popped in to The Wilky, a new bar that opened up in Bedstuy, an area of the hood that needs bars. Their beer menu changes often and they just so happened to have my favorite beer, Founders Breakfast Stout on tap, as well as other coffee porters. I was tempted to try all of them, but I knew my liver would hate me, so I settled on two Founders.
In the middle of my drinking frenzy, the girl next to me ordered a pretzel. I had seen it on the menu, but I scoffed at it being a whopping seven dollars when I was going to drop sixteen on beer alone.
Then I saw it. Now I’m a believer. There really are pretzels bigger than the ones I had at Oktoberfest in Munich! It smelled like heaven, fresh from the oven.
“Excuse me, Bartender. I’ll have what she’s having!” (I was not having a Katz deli orgasm, but almost….and it wasn’t much longer until the people on the other side of me saw my pretzel and said the same thing!)
I got my pretzel, and I just sat there and let its scent smother my nose while I let it cool down. Yes, it was that hot. Yes, it was worth every dollar spent. Sadly, at seven dollars, I cannot have it every single day. But I keep telling myself that I can’t have too much of a good thing. Same with the beer. I am afraid all of my coffee porters are going to waste over there.
But yes, the rent in New York is bloody expensive, so the beer must be eight and the pretzel seven. Oh, at moments like this, I wish to be a New York real estate tycoon so I can pump my money earned back into the businesses that feed me…