Pies ‘n Thighs Manifesto

Wednesday night is the last night for Pies ‘n Thighs, a little hole in the wall (literally) southern eatery under the Williamsburg Bridge, consisting of a kitchen, a cash register, and an empty lot next door that is set up with picnic tables during the summertime. The Department of Health is ordering its demise in one way or another– a true tragedy, only proving the extent to which the NYC administration continues to strip the city of its livelihood and spirit, that will leave us with just another barren wasteland of mirrored glass highrises and Olive Gardens.

PnT has the best fried chicken I have had in NYC, the chicken skin so crisp, never soggy, with fat salt chunks sprinkles. The pulled pork box is also a local favorite, with its vinegary tang; and the mac and cheese is a divine side dish from the cholesterol gods. And let’s not forget their apple pie with shaved cheddar melted on top. The food here is always consistently excellent- I can’t remember a one time that I had a disappointing meal since it opened. Could you say that about your precious Buddakans and your star chef empires, DOH?

Although they say that they will reopen in a bigger space this summer, much of the charm came from the cramped entrance, the short doors, the girls making biscuits behind the counter, getting a beer from the bar next door.

PnT needed to be landmarked, not closed. We’ll all be there for your grand opening though, PnT, cause you know what? FUCK THE DOH.

For the time being, PnT, good night.

*Read the supplementary follow-up to this post, Pies ‘n Thighs Manifesto: A Response