Thank you for being my friend, Charles Fried Chicken

I got some really sad news today and needed some Fried Chicken therapy. Of course, I had no cash, so I had to go to the bank. A short walk from said bank, I became mesmerized by the ribs cooking at Sherman's BarBQ (2507 Frederick Douglas Blvd. bw 145th&146th St.). Can you see them in the window? I've always loved the looks of this storefront, but I like my bbq cooked in a smoker and Sherman's aren't smoked. So I've never eaten there. Eating In Translation has a much nicer picture of the exterior in case you're interested. But once I saw the lady behind the counter peek her head out at me, I felt obliged to go inside. Faced with a bulletproof plexiglass window in front and wood paneling on the walls behind me, I ordered the ribs with cole slaw and potato salad ($11.75). I loved the simple cole slaw. The light sweetness in the mayo dressing was offset by the slight heat of the ground black pepper. The potato salad was too sweet for my liking, and the ribs were just ok. The sauce was thin in flavor and body. The actual ribs were quite fatty, but there were a lot of them. So I took the meat off the bones and will add it to rice for a nice fried rice lunch tomorrow.
To hell with health and fitness! Like a Golden Girl drawn to cheesecake, in times of trouble, I need fried chicken, not ribs. In my opinion, Charles'(2841 Frederick Douglass Blvd. at W. 151st St) is the best Southern fried chicken in Manhattan. There weren't any drumsticks, so I ordered two thighs and a side of collard greens (less than 6 bux) I've learned that unless the pan of mac and cheese on the steam table is new, it's better to skip it because it's going to be greasy, not creamy. The chicken's crust and meat are perfectly seasoned. Look at the huge heap of collards. The juice from the greens reminds me of this great scene in the movie Hal Ashby directed before Harold and Maude, The Landlord. In it, rich white Lee Grant gets drunk with her son's black tenant Pearl Bailey while drinking regular liquor, then they switch to collard green pot likker in glasses. It's the kind of movie that my old friend Patrick would have loved. Full of color, music and the vibrant energy of New York in the Seventies. If only he was here in NYC to drink pot likker with me right now.