Some single men go through great deliberation when faced with the challenge of where to take a woman to eat. Guys who are generally confident, down-to-earth, and open become shivering pretentious mess-piles, studying up on their chef trivia, pretending to be their own assistants when they call for reservations, planning what to order, and how to say it in Japanese to impress the poor girl.
My dream date would do no pathetic, status-based dining. In fact, dining can wait till things get serious. In the beginning, we would eat. And he would know to keep things sexy. In other words, cheap and fat.
Let’s start with lunch in Chelsea. I hear Milanes Spanish & American Food has killer pernil, decadent stewed tripe, soporific chicken rice soup. But for two potential lovebirds, nothing is more romantic than a plateful of chicharrones. Rather than pork cracklings, which of course, we love, at Milanes, the fatty chunks are fried dark meat chicken, on the bone, with the skin. They glisten triumphantly when pressure is applied with the thumb and forefinger. Next, lime juice should be added, and garlicky hot sauce.
He who doesn’t have to suppress moans and grunts of delight when tearing the crisp skin from the juicy flesh is deeply troubled. And probably not boyfriend material anyway.
168 W 25th
near 7th Ave