At Piccadilly comfort food is everywhere you look. There’s meat loaf and mashed potatoes, smoked ribs, cheeseburgers, pulled pork, Italian pastas, fried chicken, and homemade soups. Their barbecue is ranked among the best in the city. Don’t overlook the fruit cobblers, the dessert of which dreams are made. This is mom’s home kitchen, where you can get a rendition of the American classics. So sit a spell. Enjoy.
It had been a while since I was at Piccadilly. In addition to the hearty, home-style meals, I recall that the lighting in the window where I sat provided me an opportunity for some great food photos. Bloggers remember things like that.
I’m joined by friends and fellow foodies: Sheila, Virginia, Mary Anne and Cyndy. Three of us opt for the chicken pot pie with the flaky crust that overflows the bowl. The others go with the fish sandwich and meatloaf. With permission, I sample each selection. Since I’m an “investigative” food blogger, people at my table often permit testing and photography in the interest of the culinary arts. I’ve not tried this intrusion on total strangers—yet.
Dessert, or Not?
We spend a few moments weighing the dessert options—as lunching women always do. One does not like to dessert alone. (I’m not sure “dessert” has ever been used as a verb before, but there’s a first time for everything.)
The cherry cobbler is hard to ignore. I had their luscious blackberry cobbler the last time I was there. But after serious consideration, we reluctantly pass on any sweet indulgence, feeling a bit saddened, but buoyed by our collective virtue.