Red Rooster

Red Rooster is an easy restaurant to root for. Marcus Samuelsson's love letter to Harlem --- its glamorous past, its multicultural present, and its slick future --- serves up interesting riffs on comfort food in an eye-catching space intended to cater to neighborhood residents as much as destination diners. Not a perfect restaurant by any means, Red Rooster nevertheless sent us away quite happy.

We started with thick wedges of cornbread, good in themselves and drool-inducing with either the can-we-buy-this-by-the-jug? honey butter or the spicy tomato jam. The ceviche tacos and tostadas, a nod to the Mexican influence in modern Harlem, had a nice cool crunch but were somewhat skimpy.

The pulled pork came piled high on a slab of juice-soaking potato bread; a smooth and tart lemon aioli set the dish off from the countless other versions we've had --- an inspired idea executed well. (The slaw on the side felt like an afterthought, though, and had too much bitterness to connect it to everything else.)

Dirty rice and shrimp sounds like it should carry you away to the bayou, but the rice is aged basmati and the scent of curry leaves wafting out of the small cast iron pan takes you to another continent entirely.

Nearly every table seems to order the fried yard bird, and rightly so: marinated for two days in buttermilk and coconut, the chicken comes with hot sauce, mace gravy, and a "shake," a canister of spices to dispense at your discretion, all but guaranteeing a lively plate of food. Good greaseless crunch on the skin and tender meat beneath made it more than a vehicle for the heat and spice.

With only room for one dessert, we took the server's recommendation and went for the "chocolate and peanut" with caramel ice cream. Tasted individually, the components left us shrugging, but combined they turned into a luxe version of a Snicker's ice cream bar. Who could resist that?