The smell. All of the human waste from Manhattan is apparently piped into an ancient, leaky sewage treatment plant a few blocks away, and when the wind blows the wrong way, you can sometimes smell it over the oil refinery, trash dumps, and random scary looking factories that also dot the Greenpoint coast.
Polish food rules, unless you're a vegetarian or atkinsian.
When you crash your bike at 3 in the morning and nearly split the front of your head open, people on the sidewalk will give you a thick stack of napkins. Try that in Manhattan!
You can't order from the butcher in anything but Polish. We were on the verge of putting on a piggy pantomime for the guy until he finally pointed at the pork chops.