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Sunday, August 24, 2014

Smothered Bastard

I didn't ask to be born, but here I am.  I wouldn't even say I asked to live in New York, or have the job I have, the friends I have, or anything I have.  But here it all is.  One thing I will say: I love a good smothered pork chop.  Fry me up a pork chop and just smother that son of a bitch in drippings.  Yep, I'm a smothered bastard.

Last week I visited Margie Red Rose in Harlem on, I believe, 144th Street.  If there is a god I ask that he keep such places in existence always.  It's a simple place where a woman cooks and her husband runs the front-of-house.  They cook every order one-at-a-time.  If you are with 4 people, someone will get the meal first, then 10 minutes later another person, and so on.

The smothered pork chops are masterful and bountiful.  The mac and cheese is solid and the collard greens are fresh and flavorful.  I can't get the smotherings out of my head.