I didn't just name my blog Chicken & Waffles for its homey touch. Truth be told, there's nothing that says loving more than orange food.

You're just going to have to trust me when I say my palate is evolved and reasonably refined-- I love to talk about food and plan to dissect the uptown and the lowdown of all food genres in the coming months. But it's only fair and only right that the first food discussion of this blog be devoted to the down home, all American, white trash, Crisco dripping, comfort and joy of my golden fried friends.

I never understood why some of my women friends felt the need to consume cookie dough and ice cream and chocolate as a comfort food in times of misery and need. Wimpy, sugary edibles are not going to solve your problems, girls. A bucket of wings will. These little darlings, glistening and steaming hot from the Fry Daddy, will perk you up in no time at all.

To truly be a connoisseur of this category of food, you must accept that deep frying is best suited to a primary category of traditional foods: chicken, wings, steak, pork, calamari, fish, scallops, veal, clams, shrimp, onions, potatoes. That whole deep fried cheese thing seems suspect and even a little avant garde. And don't get me started on that new fangled habit of deep frying Oreos or candy bars or --Jesus!-- Twinkies. That is simply and utterly wrong. Paula Deen wouldn't touch it and neither would I. Respect the simplistic and correct partnering of batter and grease and a primary food. Only one part of the combination can be junk food. The second half of it has to be real food.

It's important to also recognize the best sources of real fried food. Yes, Blue Smoke may serve good chipotle scented wings with an aioli cilantro dipping sauce, but the real deal is at the Soul Food Kitchen in Harlem, where a handful of greasy bad boys are served heaped in a paper box with a shot of hot sauce right on top. The traditional sources are often the best, so be discriminating with your fried foods and seek them out.

Case in point: My friend Jewels introduced me to one of the most unlikely sources of delicious fried food, a ratty little Mexican place on 7th Avenue called "Aribba, Aribba!" Our intent was initially to attempt to consume one of their aquarium sized margaritas, fondly nicknamed "The Mama." I assumed that one came to this place for the drink and certainly not the food (Mexican food+ NY = inedible). However, Jewels ordered a platter of wings. Seeing my lips curl back over my teeth in distress, he said, "You'll love them. They fry the SHIT out of them." And so they did--we had two platters of them.

And my last word on the subject, if you've never tried the intriguing combination of chicken and waffles, get thee to Roscoe's in LA and try a plate. You'll thank me.