And she said she was in the mood for southern comfort. Grits, collard greens. Fried chicken.
Where did that come from? Not sure I’ve ever even made it — still going strong in my Chinese and Asian zone.
It’s her birthday. Who is going to argue. Red Rooster in Harlem it is.
The restaurant is conveniently situated right by the 125 street exit off the 2 train.
It looks posh with its deep red and yellow hues, feathered lamp shades over the bar, and plush floors and couches.
Going through the menu. Grits — check.
Collard greens — check.
Wings — check.
But there’s yardbird by the piece — what’s the difference? Let’s try.
Something green? Grilled Caesar with shrimp ceviche sounds good.
What about a catfish with black eyed peas? It’s comfort, too.
All food came out at once. I laid my eyes on the yardbird drumstick and wings and knew my dinner was sorted.
Placement of the dishes made me start with grits, closest to me. Not interested in the white mush, I scooped some with the tip of the spoon and waiting for my turn with wings tried a bit. And more. And more. Before the dish moved, I ladled a heaping spoonful and continued tasting.
In the end, I did have one wing, a bite of drumstick, a couple of zesty limey shrimp with Cesar, a couple of spoons of earthy bitter collards, a bite of crispy fish with the most amazing cuminy smoky black eyed peas. But when happily satiated we got to the point of who-is-going-to-finish-what, I had a go at the bowl of grits cleaning it to the last smudge.
Where’s my Edna Lewis cookbook?
