Siddity In The City

Ate lunch.

Will write more when can fit arms around distended belly to type. *passed out* Nearly four hours later... I am almost no longer full-to-bursting. Now I'm just mildly, uncomfortably full. I love this place. I wish it weren't in the middle of Nowheresville, Harlem. Actually, I'm glad it is. At least I can't roll myself there once a week as I'd otherwise want to do. My dining partner and I split an order of fried green tomatoes to start. I love, love, love fried green tomatoes. My grandma used to make them when I was little, from the unripe 'maters my grandfather grew in the back yard, and slap 'em on Wonderbread with some bacon and mayo. Mmmmmm. She also used to put spaghetti on buttered Wonderbread and serve us grandkids spaghetti sandwiches. Mmmmmmm. Yes, I was an enormously fat child, why do you ask? Anyway, Grandma's green tomato frying method went something like this: Slice green tomatoes Dip in a mixture of flour, salt and black pepper, ensuring the tomato juice has made a nice layer of battery goodness. Fry in bacon grease that has been sitting on top of the stove in an old Maxwell House tin for the last week, in giant iron pot that has never, ever been cleaned, or at the very least looks that way. Serve with fat, fat and starch. I mean bacon, mayo and white bread. Dino kicked the FGT way up by actually coating the tomato slices in a crunchy seasoned batter, sprinkling them with grated romano cheese, and serving them up with ranch dressing on the side. Delicious. Not as delicious as my Gran's, partly because it is nearly impossible to find an actual unripe tomato in this town, let alone one of quality akin to what my gradfather grew in the yard under his tender ministrations (which would be, tossing biodegradable fruit rinds in their general vicinity and not dumping motor oil from his auto-repair business there, within at least three or so feet), but very good, in their own special way. We both followed with their half-rack-plus-sides special: six or seven ribs and your choice of two of roughly a dozen sides. I got the barbecue beans and fries. I ate the fries topped with the deliciousest barbecue beans I've ever had. Not saying much, since I don't think I've had any real barbecue beans anywhere else, but them were good. Supergood. So super good I could only eat two ribs after that and the tomatoes, alas. But the ribs were fantastic--the meat fell right off the bone. I'm a fan of a sweeter sauce, but I didn't leave those extras for the alley cats, if you know what I mean. They're chillaxin' in my fridge. When I get hungry again (next Tuesday), they'll be there, waiting to welcome me with open, smokey barbecue arms. I didn't drink. It was lunch, after all, and M is my only drunk-in-the-sun buddy. But I did have a peek at the dessert/drink menu. On offer: drinks with names like Donkey Punch and Bitch Bastard (with Makers Mark for X-types), served in Mason jars. Lordy. Again, I am thankful for the Dino's location. 1. I will not drink near a highway. Too truck-stop whore for me. Hooch in Mason jars? Nuh-uh. 2. Dino is truly in the ass of Harlem. Okay, it's across from Fairway and down the street from Cotton Club, but there is nothing else there but auto garages and, and, well, nothing worth mentioning. If you think I'm going to get lit in that kind of neighborhood, and then walk back to civilization to catch a cab at midnight, you've got another think coming, my friend. 3. I cannot drink anything called the Donkey Punch. I'm not sure I wish to drink in a place that serves a drink called the Donkey Punch. Did I mention it and several other drinks are made with Sierra Mist? How declasse! *snort* I'd go back for the flesh, though. Ah, the taste of life, butchered, bled and charred for my epicurean edification. *burp*

posted by Sid @ 7/14/2005 05:14:00 PM