Willie Mae’s Scotch House & the Healing Power of Carbs
Nothing cures the awful feeling of a Sunday hangover quite like fried chicken and carbs. The night prior to this meal, I got ridiculously silly, and not just any level of silly. My friends and I had danced for six hours straight at the same venue on Bourbon Street. We pulled countless middle aged women onto the dance floor to dance with us, even dragging a few by force.
In another instance, we ran into a girl from high school and continuously called her the wrong name even though she corrected us no less than six times. Another memory comes into framer — a different one. I remember yelling to the live band to “change up the music because I’d heard them play this song already.” The singer calmly spoke into the microphone and offered, “Ma’am, you’ve been here for five hours. There are bound to be some repeats.”
My head aches and my stomach is in knots as I remember purchasing an obscene amount of Jell-O shots in plastic syringes and my best friend and I shooting them into each other’s mouths, missing, and staining our shirts. This was far too much to handle. So, that morning, we made the only logical decision: venturing into the Treme for chicken from Willie Mae’s Scotch House.
The Wait
The line was long, and it was no less than a squillion degrees outside. The sun beat down mercilessly, and I thought for sure I’d faint. After all, we were severely dehydrated and standing in the blistering, oppressive sun. Thankfully, an angel appeared — and ironically, she was from Brooklyn!
The woman had driven herself to Willie Mae’s Scotch House and happened to have cool water in the back of her car. She ran and brought both my best friend and I bottles. That’s one thing I love about travel: Some people really are just that nice! She laughed with us about the stories we told her of our wild night before. Combing over the details of the gritty night prior, as well as discussing life in New York City, made the time on line fly by so much quicker.
Entering the Gates of Heaven
When our new friends were next to be admitted into the kingdom of chicken, I was stoked for them. I mean, they really deserved it, as evidenced by their goodwill and charity toward two barely functioning adult women. It’s really remarkable to me how the face of the parties just outside the door light up and grin knowing their turn is next. It’s a really beautiful sight.
As much as I was happy for our new friends, however, I was even more excited for our turn. In a short amount of time, a jolly young man held the door open for us, and I was greeted with the noise of dozens of happy patrons and the smell of friend chicken grease. I actually looked around for my deceased relatives, assuming that this place had to be heaven itself.
Eating Willie Mae’s at Long Last
The décor of Willie Mae’s Scotch House is simple but effective. The orange painted walls are lined with photographs, paintings, and signs. It almost feels as though you’re sitting in a friend’s kitchen or living room. However, one does not come here to appreciate the art. You come here to eat.
Willie Mae’s will ruin all other fried chicken for you. Forever. Its juicy meat and crisp skin melts in your mouth and stays in your soul. The skin is thickly battered, only slightly greasy, and is served piping hot and fresh. The mac and cheese is creamy and flavorful, and the red beans and rice are the best in the city. Be prepared that portions are HUGE — bigger than my child at birth.
If you go to Willie Mae’s, be prepared for a nap afterward!
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