utica diaries: pizza, potholes, and unexpected kindness

the first thing i noticed about utica wasn't the architecture or the river-it was the smell of tomato sauce and something sweet baking. i'd rolled in late after a gig in syracuse, my van's heater barely working, and the fog was so thick it felt like driving through soup. someone told me that the best pizza in town is at o'scugnizzo, and honestly? they weren't wrong. thin crust, tangy sauce, cheese that stretches like a phone cord. i ate it standing up in a corner booth while an old guy two stools over muttered about the mayor and the potholes on genesee street.

i just checked and it's 33°f there right now, hope you like that kind of thing. the humidity's high enough to make your hair frizz instantly, and the pressure's low enough to make your joints ache if you're old enough to remember when utica had a pro hockey team. still, there's something about the way the light hits the brick buildings at dusk-like the whole downtown's wearing a sepia filter.

if you get bored, syracuse and albany are just a short drive away, but honestly? don't skip utica. the thrift stores here are gold mines-i found a leather jacket that smelled like someone's grandpa's cologne and a stack of 70s cookbooks with handwritten notes in the margins. the used bookstore on columbia street has a cat that will judge your reading choices silently from the top shelf.

i heard that the best coffee isn't at the fancy new place on the corner but at a tiny spot called the coffee mill, where the barista draws little hearts in the foam even if you're grumpy and haven't slept. someone also told me to avoid the diner on the east side unless you want your hash browns to taste like they've been fried in yesterday's bacon grease. take that as you will.

"you think this is cold? you should've been here in '93," said the guy at the gas station, while i was buying a bad cup of coffee and a bag of chips for dinner.

"don't trust the parking meters downtown-they eat quarters like candy," whispered a woman in line at the post office, holding a stack of vintage postcards.

"the best view of the mohawk river is from the pedestrian bridge at sunrise, but bring a scarf-wind cuts right through you," said a jogger who looked like he'd been running in place for twenty years.

for more on upstate ny oddities, check out visit utica or the uticaod for local news that reads like a soap opera. and if you're into industrial decay photography, the old mill district at golden shores is hauntingly beautiful-just watch your step, the floors are sketchy.

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