Peep this. a symphony of chewing accompanied by cutlery clicking on plates. The subtle rustle of napkins, an occasional Mmmm as each forkful gives birth to a smile. Time takes care of itself as friends and loved ones appetites are satisfied. And until someone ends the silence by asking, is there any more, all seated at the table for the most part are quiet. Now that’s when you know the meal you just prepared was bangin! I’ve been known to rattle a pot and pans a time or two. Nothing fancy, mostly soul food dishes learned from mom’s. But yes this brutha can cook, well in fact, especially when inspired. But for those occasions when inspiration is fleeting, I thank God for take out! Or as my fine woman says’s with her sexy British accent… take away. Go head baybee… say it again… Have mercy, the written word just does not do it justice. Unfortunately, take out options in my neighborhood are no way near as sexy as my woman. Or maybe its me. Perhaps I’ve been doing something wrong. My radar is out of wack and causing me to overlook all those well hidden good spots and instead find… Jerky Chicken. I know what you’re thinking. The name along with the hokey cartoon logo should have been a red flag. But no, i am not one of those people that judge a book by its cover, name or poor choice of cartoons. Long story short, the sides, not some, all the sides were weak. The ribs were hit or miss half-assed and the delivery times were, DAMN! I better make me a ma-fukin peanut butter and jelly sandwich on whole wheat toast while I wait… long. Real talk, take out should be on time and taste as good, if not better then what you could have made for yourself… yeah. I’m done now.
