The dead people of Woodlawn are a lot easier to find than the living and eating ones. Step off the end of the 5 line and the mammoth cemetery is right in front of you, shrouding most everything else from view.

I knew nothing of Woodlawn, but I thought I should make some trips away from the more southerly subway ends with which I am more familiar. So I plucked Woodlawn pretty much at random from the Bronx possibilities and took care not to look too much at a map—that seemed like cheating. Surveying the vast empty expanse of the cemetery on one side and Van Cortlandt Park on the other, however, I was having second thoughts. I had a vague memory that civilization lay somewhere to the northwest, on a street that started with a K. I struck out in that direction.

I like walking, but walking with the nagging possibility that you are going the wrong way is not so fun. I decided that if I kept the cemetery always on my right, like Captain Vancouver hugging the Pacific Northwest coast, I couldn’t get too lost. But there really weren’t many landmarks save for a giant sign reminding me that I could get special “under construction” pricing on mausoleum crypt space. I very nearly turned back, when I spied a gas station on the horizon, and a cross street called Katonah, down which I could see a cluster of little storefronts and Irish flags. I felt like I had completed a feat of orienteering. It had only taken me forty-five minutes.

On Katonah, Irish was the name of the game—the Celtic House, John Mulligan’s Fireside Pub, the Emerald Pharmacy, the Local 147 Tunnelworkers and Sandhogs union headquarters. It was also flooded with middle-schoolers on their lunch break. I maneuvered through the crowd to Angelica’s Bakery (advertising Irish soda bread, bien sur), where one exhausted young man explained to his cohorts that he “just got finished getting tickled by this really hot girl.” They seemed skeptical, but prepared to be impressed should it turn out to be true. Paying for my snickerdoodle-flavored coffee, I asked the woman at the counter where to have lunch, and when she told me Cozy Corner, she made such a firm gesture with her index finger, that I took her at her word and walked another fifteen minutes to try her suggestion.

2 Ks for the price of one

The instant the name of the restaurant was out of her mouth, I wondered if this was going to be the kind of place with a K in the name, and upon finding the spot, I was rewarded with two. Nevertheless, Kozy Korner was hopping, with construction workers, youngish couples, and primly dressed elderly ladies. What’s more, they had a vegetarian panini on special. The good cooks of Kozy Korner were not stingy with the fresh mozzarella, the Portobello mushrooms were tender (tough mushrooms make me gag) and the rosemary foccacia was buttery and tasty. Will I be taking another hour-long cemetery hike to return to Kozy Korner any time soon? Probably not. But let the record show that Angelica did not lead me astray.

Tender mushrooms at the end of the rainbow

On my way back down Katonah I took in the wealth of Irish pubs and then glanced at my watch. Almost two o’clock. When in Rome…

Inside Behan’s pub, the bartender and her friend were eating lunch and conversing in thick Irish accents. The friend was tending to a baby, while the bartender took care of the elderly regular in much the same fashion. The bartender dandled the baby in front of the old man. “You know the best thing about that kid?” the man said. “His name. Patrick Brendan. Now that’s a name. Nobody names their kids things like that any more. Like Bridget Mary. How many Bridget Marys do you know these days?”

“That’s right, Mike,” the mother said, smiling at him indulgently. “I’m keepin’ it real.”

In my opinion, the best thing about Woodlawn was that it seemed like a place where everybody knew your name (especially if it was something like Shannon Leahey). Would the tickled middle-schooler be sitting in Mike’s place at the bar in sixty years? It seemed entirely possible to me. Meanwhile, my own local pub was far away, so I paid up and set out on the long trip home.

Kozy Korner. 925 McLean Ave, Yonkers, NY 10704. (914) 233-3776.

Want me to take you to lunch? Send your End of the Line suggestions to Submissions@Pitchknives.com.