Sake Gumi
Kayoko has been trying to get me to blog for her for a long time. I love food, I write everyday in my spare time, and I’m often online. I promised her I’d get an entry up before the end of August. And now, here I am, stuck at home after my second PRK eye surgery (no, not LASIK. Look it up before you assume that I’m wrong. Yes, I’m cranky; I just had surgery and I had to have an “enhancement” done on the same eye. Contact me for all the details and I’ll give them to you gorily. No, I don’t regret it, but I am uncomfortable today) and I realized I could tell you all about the delivery I got.

Oh, and a word about me: it has been pointed out to me that I am one of the few that still “surfs the net.” My posts might be littered with links. I won’t embed most of them, and some may be not so safe for work. I've been told I am often not appropriate. Put your headphones on, that’s my suggestion. Or don't click 'em. Or just leave me out of it altogether!

Like Jim Gaffigan, I enjoy delivery. Sloth and gluttony are my two favorites of the seven deadly sins. My brother lives very near me, and we tip each other off on the good delivery in our neighborhood. I’m not exactly sure if I’m in Cobble Hill, Carroll Gardens, or Boerum Hill; the delivery menus all disagree. I live near the Gowanus Projects (where Whodini are from! Who doesn’t love “Freaks Come Out at Night”?), if that’s relevant to you; I see the New York City Housing Authority claims we are in Boerum Hill, and that’s good enough for me. I also live near a bar where a lot of angry public television supporters hang out, but I’ve never been there so I don’t know what it’s called (corner of Bergen and Hoyt--thank you internet, for the name, the Brooklyn Inn); that may be more relevant to you. Dunno. Recently, the bro told me the chicken from Coco Roco was off the hook, and that I ought to give it a go.

It is worth noting I am one of the few who is not naturally a fan of chicken (take that, racist pixies!). I prefer lamb, beef, goat, fishes--anything but a foul. It’s too easy to fuck that shit up. It gets dry, chewy, and I really hate getting a neck bite with the spine in it. But the bro is the guinea pig for me. If he likes it, I’ll try it. And if I like a chicken, it’s generally a good fucking bird.

I’d had their quarter chicken before and remembered liking it, so I got it again. But really, I was after the sweet plantains. Yes, I ordered a full meal, but this was all a ruse to get at those sweet, sweet plantains. They have a separate menu for take out, which is good--I hate trying to order something over the phone and getting told they don’t have it. (Soul Spot has foiled my fried whiting plot twice now, the bitches.) Even better, when I called and asked the lady if I should get a half chicken combo with one side of fried sweet potatoes, and then a large side order of plantains, or a two side combo with one side of plantains, and then a small side of plantains, asking which would get me more plantains for my money, she told me the former definitely would. They also told me when I ordered the last time that the yellow rice is better than the white. I love it when the staff tells me which is bigger or better. They eat the food more often than I do.

They told me 35 minutes, but the dude was at my door in 20. Damage was $14.70 plus tip.

Oh, Sade, you are so right. It is never as good as the first time. This is how it looked. No garnish, no sauce, no nothing. Just a half a chicken in a fucking tin. Sad making, almost. Don’t you know I live like a 37-year-old divorced man? I have no interest in plating this shit! I’m eating it straight out the tin on the folded up bag on my lap feeling sorry for myself and my eye because I’m not at the Wing Wagon with my girls on a Friday night. This chicken wasn’t juicy, but it was tender. The skin was crisp and salty--nice, but not super satisfying. If you like wings, you’ll be disappointed in this: that part was inedible--burnt to a motherfucking blackened shriveled piece of carbon. Supposedly it’s rotisserie, but this seemed like it got way too close to the broiler. Oh, but don’t get fooled: I still went to town on this chicken. Edible, but not as good as the last time I ordered it.

Ah, the plantains. They were so hot I could barely take them out of the bag, so I know they’d just come out of the fryer. I held off and tried the sweet potatoes first.

Now, when I ordered the “camote frito”--sweet potato fries--maybe I was tripping to expect them to come cut like steak or French fries. But these came like little rounds and the consistency was more like a boiled jewel yam that had been quickly pan fried: mealy, wet, soft. Not okay. Plus I think these gave me some noxious gas the next day (this claim is completely unverified--the gas is, the cause is not). I’m glad they weren’t good enough for them to eat them all. Should’ve gotten the yellow rice and beans again.

Onward! The plantains. They were just what I wanted, and there were plenty. Slightly caramelized on the outside, with that al dente give to the tooth, then that creamy center. Delicious. I got the sweet plantains, not the green ones. Although I like both in principle, I can’t resist the sweet ones. Coco Roco doesn’t give sweeten condensed milk to dip them in or I would have gorged myself on them and put myself into a stupor. As it was, I ate three quarters of them and my stomach stuck out.

And if they think I’m going to eat this pathetic salad they can stick their thumbs up their butts. Look at it! They brag that all combos include a house salad, but they needn’t be so proud. Their house salad sucks booty juice.

Coco Roco
139 Smith Street
(Between Bergen & Dean)
Brooklyn, NY
T: 718.254.9933


  • that is my favorite Sade song EVER.

    yeah, Coco Roco… you’re better off with the delivery, cause i think their service at the restaurant blows. so much that i’ve just completely stopped going.

    really good chicken though, i agree.

    here’s to a speedy recovery with good delivery! you’re in the right city for it. next best would be mom in the next room making you soup, right?

    kayoko on

  • Yeah, I won’t eat catfish, either. I think it tastes like mud. And a half Chinese lady once told me I couldn’t be Black because she saw me order some beef rare! How do you like that! I must not have gotten those genes from my pops.

    amy ann on


    kayoko on

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