The first Pies 'n' Thighs opened in the spring of 2006, a tiny kitchen in the back of a dive bar on Kent Street that produced no-frills barbecue for a scattering of picnic tables almost directly under the Williamsburg Bridge.
By Leo Carey The first Pies 'n' Thighs opened in the spring of 2006, a tiny kitchen in the back of a dive bar on Kent Street that produced no-frills barbecue for a scattering of picnic tables almost directly under the Williamsburg Bridge.
Fisher is the older relative you hang with at the family picnic, the one who gives you the best advice about your first girlfriend, the one who meets you at a small table in the back of a dive bar to toast your 21st birthday.
For a dark spell, though, here were the realms of back street dives, of sex shops and hostess bars, with neon showing the way to the seedier sides of city life.
That meant playing truth or dare and eating the nasty stuff in the back of the fridge, diving off the roof onto a pile of mattresses, or for 15-year-old Darby Risner it meant sticking her noggin into the large dinosaur head from an old Barney mascot costume to delight her peers.
I drove a blue convertible down Gay Street in the middle of the night, picking up Marsha P. Johnson — now Mya Taylor, in a red dress and flower tiara — to take her to a party at our reimagined Stonewall, which the crew constructed in the back of an East Williamsburg dive bar.
The restaurant, such as it is, occupies a tiny closet of a kitchen that for years sat unused — save to house beer — in back of the Rock Star Bar, a dive so cinematically seamy and purposefully out of the way that it spurred me to imagine all kinds of unlawful scenarios playing out between its walls.
When I do, a few people have obligingly left before the band's second set, and I stand at the back of the dingy, dilapidated dive, which has checked tablecloths and the air of a pizzeria frequented by the lesser fringes of the mafia.
I drove a blue convertible down Gay Street in the middle of the night, picking up Marsha P. Johnson now Mya Taylor, in a red dress and flower tiara to take her to a party at our reimagined Stonewall, which the crew constructed in the back of an East Williamsburg dive bar.
Bowerman says putting on one dress required her to crawl, not jump, through two hoops in the back of the skirt and dive up through the waist with her hands over her head.
