“Glorified Popeye’s,” he muttered. “No it’s more special than that,” I said. We both fell to the task of devouring fried chicken down to the bone. Maybe I thought it was special because of the setting—a summer night with a hint of fall, after the most photogenic sunset the city had seen in months; the JMZ train rumbling not-unpleasantly overhead, a beer cooling in my hands. But on second thought, maybe it really was the chicken.

My chicken box ($11), which was served on a plate, came with three pieces of brined, deep-fried chicken. Lightly crisp, golden crust (not too greasy), a bitable prison for tender, juicy meat. Umami-receptors-screaming-hell-yes, belt-loosened-to-first-notch, satisfaction. Pies n’ Thighs also has a pulled pork box, fried catfish box, chicken brisket sandwich box, and burger, but I can vouch for none of these. Just get the fried chicken!

The chicken box also came with a choice of side and a biscuit. Since they were out of hush puppies, I chose grits, and my associate chose collard greens. What passed next can only be described a mutual flicker of disapproval for the other’s taste in Southern side dishes. The grits were fine–a creamy baseline for fried chicken savoriness–at least around the edges. I did not appreciate the squirt of hot sauce soaking in the middle. It’s like putting hot sauce on mashed potatoes; sure, you can do that, but should you? The collard greens were allright, if you like greens seasoned with plenty of salt and pork. The biscuit tasted like it had been baked much earlier that day and had been patiently waiting my arrival. But since it was otherwise a fine specimen, I liked it well enough. I didn’t expect much from a side of peaches and cilantro ($4), and it pretty much met my expectations. Maybe this combination works in a salsa, but I thought that the perfectly lovely peach wedges would have been better off left unadulterated by cilantro. Still, none of the sides were bad, and I came dangerously close to not having room for pie.

I ordered a slice of key lime and my associate ordered banana cream ($4.50/each). When our slices arrived the waitress switched them so the banana cream settled in front of me. When my associate promptly pulled it back across the table, and sent the key lime sliding my way, I realized that perhaps I should have ordered differently. But since I’ve been forged by the fire of many years of snacking, I tucked away my pie without complaint. The key lime filling was suitably tart and creamy, but the pie would have been 100% better had the graham cracker crust not been soggy.  The banana cream slice was far better. I did sense something in the banana filling that tasted suspiciously instant-puddingy, but I merely noted it and moved on to enjoyment.

I have a feeling I’ll be back. Pies n Thighs is not a fried chicken “event” like the $100 Momofuku chicken dinner, or trek-worthy, like a soul food meal in Harlem. But it’s pretty likely I’ll be in Williamsburg some evening, wandering from one place to the next, and it will strike me that what I really want right now is some plain, unpretentious, and tasty fried chicken. Without setting foot in a Popeye’s. And this time I will order the banana cream pie.

Pies n Thighs
166 S. 4th St. at Driggs St.
Mon-Fri breakfast: 8-11, lunch: 11-4, dinner: 5-12
Sat-Sun brunch: 10-4, dinner: 5-12

It’s the wee hours on a Saturday, and in just a little while farmers will be driving in from upstate and tents and tables will be set up and piled with fruit, vegetables, flowers, herbs, breads, meats, jams and cheese. Everyone, from professional chefs to budding cooks, shops at the Greenmarket year-round, but if you ask me, August is the best time to go.

Why? Well I’m all for supporting local farms and eating fresh, organic produce, but to be honest, I enjoy the little dose of sensory overload I get here. The variety of produce at this time of year is stunning: exquisitely sweet yellow peaches (watch for bees), a couple dozen strains of heirloom tomatoes (check NYmag for suggestions), sweet corn, watermelon, sunflowers, bunches of fragrant basil, plump blackberries, as well as perennial staples (garlic, shallots, kale).

The prices aren’t always cheap, but the quality is usually great–one of the aforementioned heirloom tomatoes will make that vine-ripened Jersey-grown cluster from Whole Foods taste like a shadow of a tomato.

While looking for one thing, I usually spot it in a form that I’ve never tried before. While looking for salad greens, I picked up some purslane; while shopping for mushrooms, I decided to try oyster mushrooms. I once asked a man selling jam what the difference was between the raspberry and black raspberry jam and he was flummoxed. “That’s like asking the difference between steak and lobster,” he said. I went with the lobster.

The reason for all this Greenmarket love is that I’ve been cooking at home for the first time in forever. Yes, I’m a rarefied beast who largely subsists on takeout, leftovers, supermarket buffets, and beer. That is, until lately. Stay tuned for more on this story.

Greenmarket
Union Square West, between 14th St. and 17th St.
Mon, Wed, Fri, Sat 8am-6pm
A guide to what’s in season

Rice to Riches sells rice pudding. Really, that’s it. But wait! This isn’t like other rice pudding you’ve had; this rice pudding is FUN! At least, everything about this shop pleads for you to think so–from the pod-like front doors, to the overly-designed packaging, which consists of indestructible orange plastic UFO-shaped dishes and odd curving implements from a future where spoons are obsolete. Not to mention the girth-obsessed signage everywhere,  proclaiming “big is beautiful” and “no skinny bitches.” Located smack in shopping-obsessed Soho, it’s no surprise this place is a draw for out-of-towners. But if there are two things that can do battle with “touristy” and “kitschy,” they are “creamy” and “delicious.”

I admit it, this probably the best rice pudding I’ve ever had; and some of the best pudding I’ve had, period. If I’m ever packed off to a retirement home where I’m forced to make do with watery instant rice pudding, you can bet I’ll be mail ordering this stuff by the tub. The rice is cooked to ideal tenderness, and compliments a deliriously creamy texture that can only be faulted for being too rich. Half a serving of their smallest size, the “solo” ($6) is usually enough to send “full now please stop” signals ricocheting from my brain. Flavors have been composed to mimic their real-world counterparts with satisfying accuracy: coast to coast cheesecake, fluent in french toast, and take me to tiramisu being among my favorites. I’d advise avoiding citrus-based flavors like surrender to mango, which is completely overpowering. My all-time favorites are the relatively-plain category 5 caramel and understanding vanilla, with a topping like crumbled graham crackers or caramel sauce ($1 each). Luckily, free samples of puddings are available and limited only by how much you wish to irritate the counter person helping you.

The only thing that really nags me is the packaging. Once you get past the initial novelty, it seems a bit of a waste. Sure the tupperware-grade bowls are reusable, but I don’t need more plastic dishes. Throw my pudding in a paper cup so I at least feel like I’m not poisoning planet earth, why don’t you? Help a skinny bitch out here.

Rice to Riches
37 Spring St. between Mulberry St. and Mott St.
Sun-Thu 11am-11pm, Fri-Sat 11am-1am.