As I work to pile up stores to hibernate, I decided it was time to revisit the gloriously fattening haunts of Harlem. I had slobbered unceremoniously at Sylvia’s during gospel lunch, and was determined to do the same at Amy Ruth’s. Shuffling in from the light winter drizzle, I was warmed immediately by the gush of fried food and sight of syrup-loaded waffles. The cornbread of course, didn’t hurt either, as it stood its ground in my hands, but fell apart when called for.
The menu held for me every Southern Comfort I could hope to name. Better yet, almost everything I could name could come with waffles. Almost. I stared at the Reverend A.R. Bernard. Sauteed chicken livers, could it really not come with waffles?
It couldn’t Which was no matter, because it came with two sides–a struggle of a choice, which ended in mashed potatoes and collard greens. The livers themselves came hidden in a mountain of gravy, and indeed, had that unique savory richness of sweetbread. A little heavy no doubt, but I daresay nothing on this menu ought to be on the point system. The buttery collard greens, comparably guilt free, was nothing short of perfect and heart attack.
At the table was also the Honorable Keith Wright, also known as a plate of fried pork chops. Accompanied by a most texture defying fried okra, these pork chops were tough with a solid kind of character and bled flavor with every bite–of which there ought to be many.
Onwards I say to the diners who have not yet had their fill, but given the impending holiday meetings, I called it a night. Definitely a place that is worth many a return visit, to meet the pantheon of greats that grace the menu. With that, I say to the peach cobbler–maybe next time.
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113 W 116th St
New York, NY 10026