Brooklyn bands eat pizza

Last weekend I had dinner at Grimaldi's. I had just come with some friends from the aforementioned book party. The space had become hot and crowded and we were looking for respite. We walked across the street to the pizza place to find it mostly empty. A line usually follows the sidewalk, but the weather was inclement, and we attributed the sparse attendance to the slippery streets.

The pizza was good, but not as good as I had imagined. After years of hearing about the place's legendary status, I could not but feel a trifle disappointed. There are other pizza places I prefer: one in Queens, another deeper into Brooklyn, and one closer to my home in Manhattan.

Midway through our meal a group of hipsters sat beside us. The staff pushed a few tables together to accomodate them. We ate and chatted while they ordered and ate and chatted. The rest of the restaurant was practically empty.

We finished our food and lingered. There was no need to hurry back out into the cold. Our conversation wandered from this to that; I remember few details, the topics were related to work. Finally it was time to go. We paid our bill and donned our coats; we wrapped our scarves around our necks and walked one by one through the door.

We reassembled in the cold, trying to keep from slipping on the sidewalk. One of my friends asked me if I recognized the group beside us. I had spent the evening not recognizing anyone and didn't feel the need to start then. I said no. He told me they were Animal Collective. I like the band, but have no idea what the members look like. I shrugged.

The next day, my friend corrected himself. He said the group was Yeasayer, another Brooklyn band. It made little difference. I knew the music, but had no idea what the band members looked like. Oh, I said. I shrugged again.
Posted by eku at January 18, 2009 7:07 PM