You know the type. The person who refers to the outer boroughs by using phrases like “the wilds of Brooklyn.” Your friend who has lived here for a decade but has never crossed the East River. The one who insists you meet for dinner in “the city” rather than, god forbid, get on the L, F or N train to Brooklyn or Queens, which is where we, and pretty much everyone we know, lives now. The ones who write reviews on Yelp detailing how sketchy Queens is, and how brave they were to go there, just that one time, to slum it and eat gyros.
That’s okay, all the more Chengdu lamb in Flushing, cannolis and noodle soups in Bensonhurst, chaat in Floral Park, jerk chicken in the Bronx and pernil in Sunset Park for the rest of us. Manhattan is incredible, but it’s a big, delicious city out there.