Backyard Chicken

By all appearances, Backyard Chicken looks like the type of lunch spot that should be good. It is shoved into a dark corner of an obscure street in the Financial District, the awning is ratty and smudged with dirt, and the only indication that nourishment can be found there are the two men, one behind a register and one behind a display case of steaming chafing dishes. As you approach, you may be able to make out some rotisserie ovens tucked away in the back, roasting chickens and dripping fat. This breed of sketchiness is usually pretty promising, a sign of the greasy gastronomic delight to come.

However, in some cases, sketchy is just sketchy. And mediocre. Even with its weathered looking, faux we've-been-around-the-block-and-we-know-what-we're-doing scrappiness, Backyard Chicken disappoints. The chicken was dry, in spite of the gravy that had been ladled over it, in spite of the fact that it was the typically moist chicken thigh, and in spite of the chipotle sauce that I had slathered on, hoping to eke some flavor out of my lunch. The sides were equally as listless - the macaroni and cheese only a slightly creamier and more voluptuous version of its more popular cousin, Kraft, the spinach cooked to a rather pulpy, fibrous mass of greenery. I found myself plugging away at my lunch, eating only for the sake of filling my stomach, with little pleasure.

Backyard Chicken has some redeeming qualities. The people who run the place are friendly. The prices are dirt cheap. My lunch, which included two sides and a drink, was only $6. However, for the same price, a much better lunch can be had at one of the many food carts that are rampant in the Financial District.