Restaurant experiment: Miss Myra’s Pit Bar-B-Que

Miss Myra’s Pit Bar-B-Que

3278 Cahaba Heights Road at West Green Valley Road

Birmingham, AL 35243

205-967-6004

http://missmyrasbbq.com

The original plan was for Brother and I to eat at Saw’s BBQ, but since it closed at the absurd time of 7PM (really?!?!?), Miss Myra’s Pit Bar-B-Que came to the rescue.  I had found out about it via Yelp’s glowing reviews though I was a smidge skeptical, after the not-so-awesome Bettola.

Miss Myra’s closed at 8PM, so they were cleaning up when we showed up.  This is one of those order at the counter places, but this time you go get your order when it’s called.  Brother ordered a pulled pork sandwich while I went for the chicken sandwich.  We both got a side each of the baked beans.  The side selection was a tad skimpy, with some others being deviled eggs, chips, potato salad, and green beans.  Sad, no fried okra.  That’s how I judge a BBQ place.

Our orders were presented as soon as the monetary transaction was completed.  I am not sure about the exact cost since my order had some payment issues, but it was not significant.  Brother and I sat down.  I admired the fish tank containing two large catfish or suckerfish and a multitude of guppies.  We both were not crazy about the Crimson Tide memorabilia, but what can you do.  The Christmas tree with pig ornaments was cute.

Now, I had noticed some Yelp reviews which made it a point to discuss the white sauce.  After I squirted some on my chicken pieces, I thought, “What’s the big deal?” but then I found myself squeezing the bottle more and more.  And then more and more.  And more.  It was nearly gone.  Well no, I exaggerate.  But an employee noticed our enjoyment of said sauce and commented on it.  He revealed that the sauce was vinegar, mayo, and black pepper.  And maybe something else, but that was basically it.  Hmm, good to know.  The sauce also complemented the beans quite nicely.  What a versatile condiment.  Brother was happy about his pulled pork.  I thought maybe that I should have gotten the pulled pork, but the chicken was fine.  The beans were really excellent with the white sauce.

Thank you, Miss Myra, for being there when Saw’s wasn’t.  I still want to try you, Saw’s.  But be warned that you’ve already gotten a strike against you.  Miss Myra’s close proximity to The Summit cannot be ignored.  Good place to pop in for an authentic BBQ experience.

Restaurant experiment: Red Rooster

Okay, I’m finding it hilarious that I go to a place called BLUE Smoke and now somewhere called RED Rooster. Need to find a WHITE _____ restaurant to complete the patriotic triad.

This was my first trip back to Harlem in some time.  Marcus Samuelsson’s Red Rooster has only opened in December, but it’s been a happening spot ever since.  I must say this is not my first encounter with Marcus and Harlem.  When I visited the Target on 116th Street last year, he had a line of kitchen linens that he had designed in honor of that particular Target (or something like that).

Lily and I elected to go here since it’s been getting a lot of buzz (RR has been in the news as the site of an Obama fundraiser) and is in an area familiar to us.  We got a reservation easily enough for dinner.  The front bar scene was hopping.  I liked the openness of the space.  There are no tables outside unlike Chez Lucienne next door, but it feels non-stuffy inside.  We were seated at a communal table, sandwiched between two women who had something to do with real estate and kept looking at apartments on a glowing iPad and between a mother and young daughter, celebrating the daughter’s success in school.  Both sets of diners were chatty and nice.  The table was too wide though; I had to yell or project strongly so that Lily could hear me, and in return, I had to strain my ear devices to hear her words.

Here’s the vantage point from my seat:

Neat decor!  But for those of you into celebrity chef sightings, no Marcus Samuelsson was in the kitchen, whipping up meatballs.  Alas.

The menu is heavily soul-comfort food, with touches of Ethiopian and Swedish.  I went in not reading any Yelp reviews so that I could go in without influences.  I settled on “The Fried Yard Bird ($21)” since hey, I was in a place with a farm fowl in the title.

What was kind of annoying was that the waiter, a good guy, kept trying to push add-ons.  “Would you be interested in anything to munch on?  Pickles or nuts?”  “How about any appetizers?”  It was like that the whole time.  I don’t know if that was how he was trained or what, but it got old.  If we want stuff, we’ll ask for it.  At least he and the other staff members were attentive; my water glass never was completely drained.  To thwart the endless requests to buy more, I said I was going to save room for dessert.  Despite all those pushes for sides and appetizers, we were granted complimentary bread.  The olive oil dip had a very familiar taste to it that I couldn’t put my finger on.  Cheese?  No, not quite.  And the the mom next to us provided the answer since she too was wondering: chickpeas.  Ah yes!

Here is the yard bird.  A shaker of extra spice came out too, but since the red-orange sauce already burned my mouth, I didn’t mess around with that.  I really like the collard greens.  I started with the drumstick and was taken by the non-dry aspect of the meat.  The skin also had a unique flavor to it.  But the breast was not as rewarding with the meat, and then I was getting a little sick of the breading which was getting a little mealy.  I wanted more collard greens!

The dessert I saved room for ended up being the black and white mud ($8).  While black and white cookies are dumb and popular in NYC for what reason, I don’t know, I wanted to try this since it sounded terrific.  Oreo cookie crust, layer of white chocolate thick mousse, layer of chocolate thick mousse, topped with sea salt and candied orange peel (which Lily mistook for a French fry).  The plate and the dessert itself were chilled.  Refreshingly chocolatey.  But too much for one person, so Lily helped me polish the chocolate craziness off.  Though as I ate more and more, I thought there was too much salt in the crust and top.  This reminds me very much so of the dessert I had at Marlow and Sons.  Again, ease up on the sea salt.

Make a special trip to scope out the bathrooms; you’ll be glad you did.

Restaurant experiment: Egg

Egg

135 North 5th Street between Bedford Avenue and Berry Street

Brooklyn, NY 11211

718-302-5151

http://www.pigandegg.com

As some friends were visiting from out of town, a big gang of us ended up at Egg for brunch on a Sunday.  Unfortunately, Egg is not the place for a large group, unless you like squishing around a table which is what we ended up doing.  Or Egg is not the place if you do not like waiting long waits or paying by cash.  But if you do enjoy delightful brunch plates, you will like Egg.

Sam directed us to nearby Blue Bottle which was also packed but at least had a line that kept moving.  Between Blue Bottle and a visit last month to Stumptown, I’m really feeling like a West Coast coffee snob even though I am tea-4-evah.  I should add that it was a freezing Sunday early afternoon, but the temps did not deter the hipsters from queueing up.

After hemming and hawing over the Southern-influenced menu, I selected a pot of tea as my drink, and I settled on the Eggs Rothko ($9), ”easy-cooked egg in a slice of Amy’s brioche and topped with Grafton cheddar. Served with broiled tomatoes and a side of meat or seasonal vegetables.”  I picked out bacon as my meat. 

 

I definitely felt warm feelings about the Eggs Rothko (cheese galore!), but my only complaint would be that it was on the small side.  I guess that was to be expected with the $9 price point.  If you do order this dish, and I suggest you do, definitely get a side order of something, but not the caramelized grapefruit with mint, as Ian and Laurel were not impressed as it seemed like no one gave it the proper care it deserved.  Our waitress was a cheerful gal with a good attitude about serving such a large gaggle.  And if you’re into restaurants that farm from their own farm, Egg has a farm in Upstate New York, cool.

Restaurant experiment: The Redhead

The Redhead

349 East 13th Street between Second and First Avenues

New York, NY 10003

212-533-6212

http://www.theredheadnyc.com/

Next time she’s in town, I’ll have to take The Redhead to The Redhead.

Jokes aside, I selected this place to be the food venue for a dinner with Stacy, the brother, and Mark.  Lately The Redhead was distinguished by being the final review for the outgoing New York Times restaurant critic Frank Bruni.  That boosted its popularity.  What also will help is the face that it will soon be in a feature on Thirteen about mom and pop restaurants in NYC (I saw a man filming the dining room and asked the waitress about it).

The Redhead is yet another establishment which doesn’t really take reservations, and you must show up early in order to avoid a ridiculous wait.  Around 6:30 on a Tuesday night was just about right.  I wasn’t too fond of the table, kind of an island in the flow of traffic, but beggars can’t be choosers.

We started off with the bacon peanut brittle which was not what we expected.  Because you think brittle and conjure up a sticky rectangular piece which will snap your teeth in two.  This peanut brittle was essentially beer nuts with tiny bacon pieces.  And some spicy taste.  More bacon please.  I’d probably pass on these next go round.

This fried chicken impressed me and I’m kind of skeptical about fried chicken in that if it’s not KFC, it’s probably not worthwhile.  I’m very picky about the dryness of the bird meat.  But The Redhead’s fowl was out of this world.  So moist and oily, with a crunchy buttermilk exterior.  And the cornbread and salad weren’t too shabby either.

I finished the meal with liquid dessert, a wee glass of moscato.  Perfect!  Mark had suggested moscatos during an earlier conversation, and seeing a moscato in the dessert section made it clear that I needed to order that.  Dessert wines are the best!  Stacy let me sample her toffee cake with buttermilk ice cream, delicious (liked the hints of lemon zest).  Also the best, take home goodies.  The espresso cookie was more like a brownie and had hints of sea salt.  Sweet.

Restaurant experiment: Amy Ruth’s

Amy Ruth’s

113 West 116th Street between Seventh and Lenox Avenues

New York, NY 10026

212-280-8779

amyruthsharlem.com

A full day on the slopes merits a hearty post-sporting meal, dontchathink?  Especially when 90% of your time was spent falling down. 

What better to accomplish this need that with southern cooking?

I would suggest a burger, but hey, soul food works nicely too.

Amy Ruth’s, a noted Harlem institution, was doing brisk business but didn’t have thirty minute waits or anything.  So Immanuel, Lily, and I were seated in the smallish main dining room and handed big paper menus.  A plate of crumbly fresh cornbread was placed on the table; we gobbled down that stuff in record time.  But there were no refills on the CB.  Lily was disappointed. 

I chuckled at “Kool Aid of the Day” but not at sweet tea being priced at $3.50.  Lily and Immanuel opted for the Reverend Al Sharpton: fried (or smothered if you prefer) chicken on waffles.  Food twins.  Lily did order a side of collard greens however.

As for yours truly, I ordered the Flores Forbes & Jim Nelson: fried chicken which came with two sides.  I was ecstatic to spot fried okra as a choice, so of course I picked that and then cheesy grits.  It was incredibly tempting to order the Ludacris: fried chicken wings.  I refrained.  Isn’t that hilarious?  “I’d like the Ludacris.”   

The fried skin, aka heart attack, was phenomenal.  Mmmmmmm.  The white meat was an iota on the dry side.  Being critical of fried chicken seems wrong, coming from someone who simply adores KFC.  But KFC is yummy! 

The fried okra was odd as the veg was not chopped, and the coating was thin, more like tempura okra.  I’m a fried okra veteran and have never seen this before.  Huh.

Also bizarre-seeming was the concept of syrup on chicken.  I am proud to declare that I gave it a go, and it was actually pretty good.  Now, syrup in cheesy grits, that’s a no go.  Had a little pouring accident. 

To my dismay, I was too full for dessert which broke my heart.  And the other two were too full too, and therefore I couldn’t mooch off them.  Wah, no red velvet or peach cobbler for me.

Restaurant experiment: Miss Maude’s Spoonbread Too

Miss Maude’s Spoonbread Too

547 Lenox Avenue between 137th and 138th Streets

New York, NY 10036

212-690-3100

www.spoonbreadinc.com/miss_maudes.htm

It was a dark and stormy night….  Bad cliche, but it was true.  Wayne, Greg, and I braved buckets from above to get to Miss Maude’s and were welcomed to a cozy little haven on Lenox Avenue.  There’s something warm and inviting about the place, with curtained faux windows and kitchen implements on the wall that would look more appropriate at some dead president’s restored house.  And I discovered an funky connection related to the founder of the restaurant’s family.  Good so far.

Greg ordered lemonade and drained the thing in no time flat.  I guess we can safely assume that it was palatable?  Complimentary cornbread was also palatable.  I always hated cornbread when I was younger, and as an adult, I realize that I had only been fed inferior product and that cornbread can actually be readily edible, especially with just the right amount of sweetness.  The three of us all went with chicken: Wayne fried, Greg BBQ, and me smothered.  Then I kept sneaking glances at Wayne’s FC and wish I had ordered my chicken crispy.  I have that malady in which other people’s plates look better than yours.  As for my chosen sides, the fries were fine with a toss of salt, but black pepper in the macaroni and cheese?  No, please, no!  As I’ve stated in a prior review, the cheese should be the diva, not a spice.  A peach cobbler was shared at the end, yay!  Peachy sweet.  I wanted red velvet cake but was vetoed. 

More like a case of wanting to like a place more than I actually did.  I was stuffed at the end and had to grab nearly half my meal to go.  Two for the price of one!  Our server was awesome though: so friendly and sweet and not in a fake way either.  Genuinely so.  That’s such a rare quality in New York; I’ll take it when I can.  She helped make the meal.  The clincher was when she offered us an amuse bouche of spoonbread since we didn’t know what it was and inquired about it.  Just imagine.  If grits and cornbread had a child, that child would be spoonbread.  As the website says, “Put a little south in your mouth!”  That’s a slogan I live by.

Restaurant experiment: Mara’s Homemade

Mara’s Homemade

342 East 6th Street between First & Second Avenues

New York, NY 10003

212-598-1110

marashomemade.com

It was Wayne’s birthday, so a gang of us invade Mara’s Homemade the other night to help celebrate.  The first thing that you noticed was a smell, not of welcoming vittles but of something less savory.  I liken it to a couple of steps above mildew, a damp odor.  The woman who I assumed was Mara put down some candles which helped dissipate the smell to the relief of all.

Mara’s offers up Cajun plates and Arkansas BBQ with heaping helpings of southern hospitality.  Following my rule to avoid BBQ, I went with Cajun dishes: okra gumbo with crab and shrimp, and a side of fried okra.  Yes, I like okra.  The fried okra was fine, with a thick coating that was crunchy and maybe even garlicky.  The gumbo was not really my thing, and I will admit that I am not a Cajun cuisine connoisseur, but it was too peppery for me and that’s because I am a spice wimp.  I tried a crab leg of an appetizer some folks ordered, and it was buttery garlic goodness.  The large menu offers something for everyone, even alligator.

However, I know my sweet tea, damn straight, and this made me feel like ordering it was a regretful experience.  There is such a thing as too sweet.  It’s like the kitchen poured a pound of pure cane syrup into the small ball jar mug.  Ew.  If you can find sweet tea in NYC, it’s usually not up to snuff. 

Mara’s Homemade has the atmosphere down pat, with southern sports playing on the flatscreen, napkins in yellow and green, blinking Christmas lights, a light purple wall: all Mardi Gras colors all the time.  The birthday boy even got some beads to wear but didn’t have to flash anyone to get them.

Restaurant experiment: Lookout Hill Smokehouse

Lookout Hill Smokehouse

230 Fifth Avenue at President Street

Brooklyn, NY 11215

718-399-2161

lookouthillsmokehouse.com

My rule of BBQ in NYC is to not eat BBQ because it’s way better and tastier and cheaper back where I come from.  I usually end up disappointed.  With that in mind, my roommate and I headed to Lookout Hill Smokehouse for their burgers.  We both ordered the Angus burgers with fried onions, the latter which reminded me of green bean casserole because they were small fried onion bits.  You have to order your sides separately, so I ended up with $4 of fries, luckily a generous portion.  Good fries.  I got blue cheese on my burger, and damn, the cheese sure was blue.  It’s not a huge meat patty but satisfactory.  My roommate requested mayonnaise, and it came with rosemary.  He ordered the macaroni and cheese which came with rosemary.  That’s rosemary overkill.  Who puts rosemary in mac and cheese?  The cheese is supposed to be center stage, not an herb.  At least I didn’t order that.  No fried okra as a side.  Boo.

The meat is sold by weight, just like Fette Sau up in Williamsburg, and the bourbon selection looked respectable, if you’re into that.  The decor is John Deere meets sleek modern cabin.  Outdoor seating would have been lovely if it hadn’t been 1000000 degrees outside yet again.