There’s a version of Brooklyn that exists today only in the movies. It’s the one where kids play stickball in the street, grannies in housedresses rest their elbows on pillow-padded windowsills, and people sit on their stoops for hours, occasionally getting up to go chat with a neighbor on another. Visit Brooklyn these days and this scene is next to impossible to find, but that Brooklyn was real once. I know, because I lived there most of my life.

Of course, it wasn’t all quite so charming. One of those stickball kids from my block in Carroll Gardens used to yell the same greeting every time he saw me and my sister. "Yo! You fuuuuuuckin’ liberals!" Then he’d jump on his bike and chase us, threatening to whack us with his broomstick bat. We’d flee to the safety of our stoop and taunt back, "We’re on private property, you can’t get us." And, for whatever reason, he’d respect that and ride off.

It’s hard to square my feelings about my home borough with how it’s changed. Some things are better, like having good coffee within walking distance of just about anywhere, and the fact that you’re now far less likely to get your head beaten in on the street (in broad daylight, in fact, and so badly that your eardrum ruptures and you can whistle air out of it, to the amazement of your friends).

But then, some things are worse. A lot of strong communities, many of them enriched by immigrants, have become shadows of themselves, drowned out by Brooklyn, the Brand. It’s also a heck of a lot more expensive. So much so that, after more than 30 years of living there, I decamped for Queens.

Whenever I go back, I’m amazed at how the borough’s transformation doesn’t seem to let up. There’s a lot of really good, fun stuff there that wasn’t before, but it often feels too much the same: the same huge beer gardens popping up in former industrial lots, the crop of awesome but nearly indistinguishable third-wave coffee shops, the same cocktail bars executing the same twist-garnished Old Fashioneds, the same farm-to-table-restaurants-with-craft-beers-on-tap (though, if we could get just one of those in Jackson Heights, I’d be stoked).

Which is why it’s good to remember that vestiges of the old Brooklyn remain, if you make an effort to notice them. In fact, in some areas, the Brooklyn of my youth is positively thriving, especially when you venture out of the gentrified neighborhoods closest to Manhattan. Well, except for the stickball...I haven’t seen anyone play a pickup game of that since the '80s.

To that end, here is my personal list of destinations for a truly old-school Brooklyn eating experience. Before diving in, I need to be clear about one thing: This is not a list of the "best" restaurants in Brooklyn, whether newer ones like Roberta’s or older ones like Totonno’s. Those lists already exist, in triplicate, in just about every publication in the land. No, these are the places that most remind me of the good decades I spent in one of the greatest cities in the world—because, yes, Brooklyn is a city unto itself, no matter its political designation—and all I can do is thank the heavens they’re still there, carrying the torch.