Hipsters. Brooklyn. Roberta's. White Jeans.

Dear Diary:

Brooklyn is only a 27 mile drive from my house in NJ, however, it seems like it is a world away.

So begins the story of a drive from the suburbs to Bushwick, Brooklyn.
A visit to Roberta's, the hottest pizzeria in NY, Brooklyn and even the country (check out the list here).

First let's determine what a "hipster" is:
Urban dictionary defines them as such: a subculture of men and women typically in their 20's and 30's that value independent thinking, counter-culture, progressive politics....

My definition: Hipster is a hippie, like from the '70's, the guys who wore tie dye t-shirts, but now have more tattoos and usually are into food and music, age under 30.
Dress code: grungy, no suntan allowed, knit caps worn in above 80F degree weather.

White jeans:
I love them and look forward to the seasons when I can wear them, I even wear them after Labor day.
For some reason, not worn in NYC or Brooklyn.
Why not?
It's an unwritten rule. Reserved for the Hamptons or Jersey shore or Scottsdale, Arizona.

My credentials:
I consider myself a New Yorker.
Street smart, savvy and knows her way around the city, no map needed.
I love pizza.

Born in Queens, NY, lived in NY or NJ my whole life.

My grandfather 96 years young, born on Rivington St. on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Original equipment.

My paternal grandparents all born and raised in Brooklyn. Mother and father from Brooklyn and Queens.
Stacey and Henry grew up in New Jersey. We love the Jersey shore. I have a North Jersey/NY accent, I say "DAWG" instead of "DOG".

Who are these people living in Brooklyn?
Not my relatives.

Youngsters from California and North Carolina and Montana. No original equipment here. Lots of pretty tattoos.

I have no ink. I wear white jeans in Brooklyn and NYC.
I drive a car, not a bike.
I wash and comb my hair.

I am not hip nor am a hipster.
I'm 48 years old. Can pass for 45 on a good day.

Do I qualify to eat at Roberta's? Yes.
Everyone is welcome.

I am scared of Bushwick and the route to get there.
It's dirty, industrial, I feel claustrophobic on the Williamsburg Bridge (my own issues).

And finally, I feel safe. I know I have arrived.

On the block where Roberta's is located (pioneers of the neighborhood), the word "organic" can be seen on most signs; there are cool natural health food stores; coffee roasters; a wine shop; cute dogs and girls in flip flops; lots of tattoos and hipsters (there they are again).

Draw open the celebrity red curtain with the big letter "R", and walk in.
I love the space, like going to a secret camp, very rustic.

No where to put my purse (a pet peeve of mine).
Fashion around town: dirty sneakers and clothes that look like they need a wash, no one wearing heels, like me.
I'm out of place here, but who cares, I am here for pizza.

No one is judging.

The suburbanites sit down at a farm table and order a fennel infused vodka w/ ginger beer (very good) and have a broccoli and cauliflower salad w/ bagna cauda dressing............yummy.

An heirloom tomato pizza with prosciutto breadcrumbs. Tasty.

A margherita pie and a roasted leek salad. All very good, even if it's out of my comfort zone (my own insecurities).

After full bellies, Grandma Stacey & Grandpa Henry say goodbye to hip Bushwick and drive back to Manhattan, where the average age is not 21, but 29. Where I feel more comfortable in my white jeans and the fashion police won't arrest me.

I officially feel old.

Thanks for reading.

xo