Three years ago, when Bayou debuted in Harlem, I'd just returned from a New Orleans binge and was in no mood to tolerate mediocrity. After downing plump raw oysters and green-tomato remoulade at Uglesich's, behemoth barbecued shrimp at Mosco's, and crawfish by the dozen at Paul's Pirogue, I was nonplussed by Bayou's too sweet and too mild approach, though their turtle soup—oily, filled with rubbery meat and perfumed with sherry—made me smack my lips. Still, the food wasn't good enough for me to return, no matter how much Bill Clinton was rumored to... More >>>