It's nearing the end of the week, and as I prepare for a trip to Scotland, I reflect on some of the week's adventures.
But first, a flashback: to my 29th birthday on August 31, 2003. I went on a field trip with some friends to the famed Charles' Southern Style Kitchen, on 152nd and 8th Ave. (212-926-4313)
On a street that contains nearly nothing to look at, there are no less than what look like three Charles spinoffs, with similar awnings. Inside is a miniature dingy room with a hot table and some seats. What does it offer? Nothing but a $9.99 buffet of fried chicken, mac and cheese, collard greens, green beans, corn bread, smothered pork chops, ribs, catfish, and iced tea. And the unlabeled table hot sauce was an awesome flavor-packed beauty...probably cayenne based, as it tasted similar to Frank's Red Hot.
Worth the trip up the 3 subway and over a few blocks? Absolutely. Or, ride the M10 bus up Eighth.
Yesterday I went out to Shea Stadium in Flushing, Queens, to see the Mets lose. I ate the footlong hot dog and the grilled sausage with onions and peppers, a rip-off at $6.25, but what can you do? The flavor is great. And for extra fun, I saw the strangest show I've ever seen in my life: a crazy man wearing a bright yellow t-shirt was kicked out of some seats he tried to sneak into in the Loge section. He must've dropped his hot dog along the way, because he comes back jokingly furious that he left his hot dog behind...he was convinced the security guard ate it. After harassing the guard, he looks behind the seats, dogged, leaving his lemonade on the side while he dug. He triumphantly recovers the half a hot dog, and then finds part of the ratty bun. He holds it up as a souvenir for all the slightly amused crowd to see...then he puts the dog in the bun and eats it.
Unfortunately, someone walking by had kicked over his lemonade.
What did he do? He slopped the small puddle of befouled lemonade along the dirty concrete walkway in the Loge section using his hand, dribbled it off the ledge to the next set of seats, caught the runoff in his cup...held up the cup...and my God, he drank it down.
He said, "this is for my friends who died." And then he said he was going to be on the field with the Cat in the Hat later on.
As far as geek shows go, that was worth the price of admission. I was horrified.
Finally...what the hell is a "Philadelphia BBQ" chicken? As far as I can tell, they're the overpriced, shrunken rotisserie birds-in-bags that Gristedes manages to sell for 7 bucks a pop. Gristedes, you should be ashamed. I can't wait until Trader Joe's rises up and buries you in the Hudson River.
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