Cheever’s has always been one of those upscale eateries that I have always managed to talk ex-girlfriends out of choosing as a Sunday lunch-spot, oftentimes through a mixture of white guilt and gaslighting.
No offense, but it just ain’t my thing, babe.
That being said, I have happily spent the past 37 years of my life relatively Cheever-less until, caught up in this current whirlwind of chicken fried steak madness here at the TLO office, it was made clear to me by editor Patrick, as well as a numerous cadre of seasoned commenters, that the upscale bistro is their number one choice to devour the Southern-based victuals.
And don’t forget that jalapeno gravy, they would all add in unison.
Beaten down and defeated, I decided it was finally time to give in to the peer pressure and see if their chicken fried steak really was all that, using binaural subliminal message tapes to create an open mind for me while I slept. Accompanied by a pair of close pals, we made the trek to the former Wig District, where the old school structure stands out amongst the urban wreckage, human and otherwise.