I was craving a trip down south this weekend. The Southern air is still wavering on the warmer side, while in New York this weekend, we head towards cold. I think this spell of humidity is all the Indian Summer we’re going to get up here.
Unfortunately due to lack of funds and will, I will be selling-out in true New York style to the demon of the blue-light-special holiday, Halloween. Similar to its sister holidays, New Years Eve and St. Patrick’s Day. I won’t count Fourth of July, hardly anyone is here anyway. All worth the hype in celebration, just not the mobbed bars, slutty costumes, and astronomical party fees.
Where did the fun of dressing up and trick-or-treating go? In a city with so many treats to indulge in (and believe me I’ve had many of them), why does it seem like Halloween weekend is full of tricks?
I detour. As I said, I was feeling nostalgic for the South. And yes, I capitalize it, because any Southerner (there I go again) who saw if I didn’t, would have a small panic attack launching into a shpeal about why it’s South and not south.
What I was missing most though, other than the weather, was the food. Having to get my fix another way, I walked East (yes, I’m going to do it for Manhattan too, same reason above) to meet my freelancing buddy/dancer friend, Emily at the new Bowery hot-spot, Peels.
Since her favorite restaurant is Freeman’s Restaurant, we had to try what type of dishes were coming out of this new-age Southern restaurant. What’s ironic about this restaurant is that it’s not so much Southern food, as downtown New York City hipsters serving fried food in an elegant way. These people aren’t Southern, they don’t cook like Southerners, and chances are most of the people in the restaurant were born and raised in New York. BUT that’s the best part; all the charm of the South, gruff and cooking skills of the North, without the travel. Maybe there wouldn’t have been a Civil War if the North and South collaborated long ago on this issue …
Beer is served in a mason jar, large portion appetizers, friendly service, good lighting, etc. Watch the noise level after about eight, it gets loud.
I also spotted Frank Bruni, former NY Times Food Critic at the bar, having a slight heart attack myself. Believe me, I was star struck, it wasn’t the butter-coma. My companion didn’t flinch, or notice. Isn’t New York great sometimes?
Until it smacks you in the face with a bag of Halloween candy.
Peels
325 Bowery, at 2nd Ave
- Shrimp & Grits fried egg, shrimp, lasso bacon, and grits
- Fresh Fried Chicken fresh kill, free-range birds, corn, and watermelon
- Hush-puppies
- Sundae



























