Luigi's Pizza

Behind the Painting

I went to South Slope on a Saturday afternoon and posted up at the bus stop to paint Luigi's Pizza. You meet a lot of people sitting at a bus stop. A guy from the neighborhood was the first to say hello.

“You’re doin’ Luigi’s, are you? You know, places like this are disappearing in Brooklyn.” I asked him how long it had been around.

“Been here since ‘73. I’ve been going ever since. That’s pretty good, you can use the art to pay for your pizza.”

Luigi’s son Gio owns the place now. He’s been there most every day for fifty years, spinning dough, spreading sauce, sprinkling cheese, and holding court with the regulars, the tourists, and the occasional celebrity.

A friend told me how one day about five years ago he walked out of his apartment to see Luigi’s funeral procession driving down the street. It felt like the whole neighborhood was there.

I met Frank. He told me about his first time at Luigi’s, years ago. “I’m from the South.” South Brooklyn?

“No, like North Carolina. So when I ordered for the first time I asked for silverware.”

Gio said no. You couldn’t eat pizza that way. “Not with a fork. Not in Brooklyn.”

A mother and her son waited for the bus. They watched as one rolled by. “Not in service again?” She sighed. The kid saw his chance. “Mom, can we get a slice of pizza?”

A couple parked, flipped their hazards on, and got out to unload groceries. He looked at the line stretching out the door. “Luigi’s STAYS hot.”

80s R&B blasted from the speakers as people dined in the afternoon heat. I met Sinclair.

“I’m a musician and a producer,” she told me. I asked her what kind of music. “Hits. Every song I write is a hit. Well, at least every song that I release.”

I played the hits. I painted the red and green signage, the afternoon shadows, the pizza delivery truck idling in front. Louie the delivery guy came over. I asked him what it was missing. “Me,” he said. Oh you’re there, I told him. I pointed to a sketchy figure stepping behind the truck.

Later he came back. “You gotta show it to him. He wants to see it.”

I took the painting inside to show Gio. I walked away with two pepperoni slices and a Coke. Not bad for an afternoon’s work.