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The idea of living above a challah factory might sound dreamy. But as publicist Kathryne Hunter found out when she moved to a second-floor loft apartment above a kosher bakery in September 2016, the novelty of around-the-clock bread smells wears off quickly. We talked to Hunter about what drew her to the apartment and why, despite the olfactory assault and other assorted weirdness, she stayed.
When I moved to Williamsburg, I had been living in a dark shoebox of a starter apartment in Yorkville. I had wanted to live in Brooklyn for a while and no longer wanted to pay a premium to live in Manhattan, but essentially be in the East River. To find the apartment, I took to Facebook to find somewhere I could move quickly. I found a listing placed by a cute, hipster-looking brunette and her tiny cat in Williamsburg, visited, and we immediately clicked, so I decided to move in the following month.
[Editor's Note: Brick Underground's series “Living Next to” features first-person accounts of what it’s like to have an iconic or unusual New York City neighbor. Have a story to share? Drop us an email. We respect all requests for anonymity. This article first ran in March 2018. We are presenting it again in case you missed it.]
Red flags from the get-go
Despite how cool my roommate seemed, the biggest red flag is that the place looked sketchy as hell from the outside. It had no door numbers or buzzer. When I came to check it out the first time, it was a Saturday, and the metal shutters in front of the bakery were shut tight, because the owners are Hasidic Jews. I eventually called my potential roommate to let me in. She had joked about how the building "looked like somewhere you’d lose all your limbs," a line I now use to break the ice whenever I bring new friends or dates over.
I ignored the crooked metal stairs and the fact that the entranceway seemed like it was about to collapse. This is still the case. I actually slipped down the stairs once and rocked some seriously bad facial wounds.
The perks of loft living
Inside, things were better. The apartment is impossibly spacious compared to previous my digs, gets tons of sunlight from both ends, and has rooftop access right outside the bedroom. Bonus: The rent was significantly less than what I was shelling out before. I had also been wanting a cat of my own for years, so I was game for the prospect of being a card-carrying cat lady with none of the responsibility or financial burden.
Here’s what’s crazy: The bakery I live above isn’t actually a place you can walk into and buy bread. It’s a commercial bakery, so there’s this constant warm, delicious smell with none of the payoff. The owners have their guys working at all hours and I’ve had more than one Tinder date ask at inopportune times, "Is something burning?" Or ask whether there are any health risks associated with constantly breathing the smell of yeast. Also, you have to pass through the bakery to reach the landlords’ office, so anytime I need to speak to them about, for example, why it’s taken them three months to make a basic repair, I have to talk my way into the bakery and walk past giant conveyer belts of dough and shelves of freshly baked loaves, and I usually nearly slip on the flour-covered floor.
The hilarious parts of living here are mostly people’s reactions to the look and smell outside, and my interactions with this large squad of Hasidic Jewish men, a religious sect known for its conservatism and social seclusion. I’ve shared a cigarette with several of them and learned that they have owned the place for three generations, since the 1930s. They’re hilariously grumpy, but generally leave me in peace as long as I do the same.
Souring on dough
My view on bread has taken a turn. Sometimes I leave in the morning to find a bunch of bread crusts strewn around the sidewalk being demolished by pigeons. Sometimes there will be a dumpster full of discarded rolls or loaves. I still love the smell of bread, but I don’t like eating rolls or buying a loaf of bread anymore.
However, with all of this said, I like living here and don’t plan to move anytime soon. It’s a steal for a huge bedroom on a central stretch in Williamsburg. Even with the 24/7 smell of yeast, I’m so lucky to get to live here.
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