After months of describing the deep fried grandeur of the state’s best chicken joint, I was finally going to introduce my ladyfriend to the honey-drenched ecstasy that is Bobo’s Chicken. With Sean in the backseat, we got more and more excited as the car headed down NE 23rd, close to Martin Luther King, right to that famous spot where the truck usually sits on weekend nights.
I say usually because, as I guess many hungry people have apparently known for weeks—months!—on social media, they haven’t been open and, this Saturday night, they still weren’t.