Watching in real time as a neighborhood changes while trying to cling to its identity.

By Nikita Richardson

There’s nothing better than finding your neighborhood in New York City. The place where you feel the most comfortable in your skin, where you feel immersed in the community and held close by its warmth. For me, as a Black woman, that is Bed-Stuy, where I’ve lived since 2015.

The Times would have me render it with the full name, Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, but to me it is decidedly Bed-Stuy.

This is the best way I can illustrate how my section of this historically Black community has grown and changed: Along the first street I lived on, the trees were young and spindly, barely able to provide shade at the height of summer. Eight years later, they’re taller and stronger, with lush canopies.

The restaurant scene has grown more lush, too. I remember when the only option near my apartment was BKLYN Blend, the Black-owned smoothie shop and restaurant. In the years since, it has taken over a small storefront next door and added a coconut stand.

I’ve watched as Tompkins Avenue has flourished into a rich collection of shops, bars and restaurants. On summer Sundays, when Open Streets shuts off the avenue to cars, it can become a party.

The neighborhood is teeming with Black-owned businesses. On Tompkins, the center of the action is the stretch between the coffee shop Sincerely, Tommy and the bar Bed-Vyne Brew. (On weekends, you can eat jerk chicken fresh off the grill from a vendor right outside Bed-Vyne.) The newish Brown Butter Creamery sits between them; its sister restaurant, Brown Butter Craft Bar & Kitchen, is down the street.

Nearby there’s the family-owned Doctor’s Cave Café. The menu changes constantly, and it’s always good. The Council, on Nostrand Avenue, comes from the folks behind the Nigerian restaurant Dept of Culture, and makes a nice quick breakfast if you’re looking for one. The Royal Rib House, open since 1968, might be one of the closest things Bed-Stuy has to a legacy restaurant.

That richness didn’t happen by accident; it was created with purpose. During the restless summer of 2020, I would pass signs in the neighborhood reading, “What if Bed-Stuy was a Black utopia?” As a transplant, I feared it was a dream that maybe I didn’t have the right to cling to, but wanted to nonetheless.

This spring, while looking for a new apartment, I realized how much change had taken place. Not just in the ever-rising rents but in this neighborhood’s increasing appeal to people who have been priced out of neighborhoods like Williamsburg, Greenpoint and Clinton Hill. I might qualify as someone who has contributed to the gentrification of Bed-Stuy, but I also look like I belong.

I was terrified that I might be priced out of that utopian dream. But I found a rent-stabilized apartment blocks away from my old place. I’m incredibly thankful.

I often find myself filled with anxiety. When a new restaurant or business opens in this corner of Bed-Stuy, I wonder: Is it Black-owned? If not, are the owners forming relationships and engaging with the Black community? Are they hiring people who reflect the neighborhood’s history?

I sometimes see self-imposed segregation: One neighborhood split into two. Walk up Lewis Avenue past Peaches on a weekend morning and it’s spilling over with Black and brown customers. Two and a half blocks up at Saraghina Pizzeria, it’s a different story. I flit between both, depending on my cravings, but I feel a need to protect one.

Yes, I want to live in a Black utopia — and in some respects, I already do. I’m creating it for myself by living here. I want the trees of Bed-Stuy to continue to grow fuller, but I don’t want curb appeal to come at the expense of the neighborhood’s identity.

I want to feel enveloped in Blackness without worrying that it is at risk. I want to hide this neighborhood away; I want everyone to know how special it is.

In Other News …

This week, Pete Wells reviews Okdongsik, a Korean restaurant, where there are only two items on the menu and they’re served to near perfection.

Openings: Kawaii culture meets sushi at the new SushiDelic; the company that runs food operations at Yankee Stadium has taken over the Central Park Boathouse; and Gertrude’s, a new restaurant from the owners of Gertie and Samesa, opens this Friday in Prospect Heights.

Ample Hills, the beloved ice cream chain, is slowly reopening after two rounds of bankruptcy, and its original owners are running the operation, Julia Moskin reports.

Elyse Inamine writes about Hawaii’s rich local food scene, which isn’t strictly Hawaiian but rather a reflection of decades of immigration and colonization.

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