Have the collahed greens, y’all ain’t in Bawston no moah.

A girl doesn’t start a blog called the “Foodie’s Guide to the Hub” without a reasonable amount of confidence in her local restaurant knowledge. If I haven’t eaten somewhere, I at least know a little about the chef’s bio, or I’ve read the review, or – bare minimum – I’ve heard of it. Right? Wrong. Recently, Paul and I made dinner plans with our foodie friend and her husband (“friend of foodie”) and she asked, “should I pick a place?” Sure, yes, great, always up for a new adventure (secretly certain she would pick a place off of my “wish list”). Next thing I know, to my inbox arrives an invitation from OpenTable (a great website, by the way) for dinner for four at… Bob’s Southern Bistro. I’m sorry, where? There’s a Southern Bistro? In Boston (the South End no less!)? And who is this mysterious Bob, anyways? A place I’d never even heard of… well, now we had to give it a try. Besides, when a girl from Alabama tells you where to get good southern soul food in the city, you go.

The first thing that tells me that Bob’s is going to be a different kind of joint is it’s sign. It’s huge. And neon. The restaurant ends up being kind of long and skinny in shape, so the giant, block-long sign belies how cozy the place is once you get in. The second thing I notice is the eclectic crowd in the restaurant – definitely a bunch that look like they have been coming to Bob’s for a very long time. Turns out, Bob “the Chef” has been turning out southern cuisine in Boston for nearly 50 years. The décor is funky and the walls are crammed with original art, including large oils of famous jazz musicians done in all gray tones and these outstanding folk art collages by Ekua Homes. Up front is a tiny stage, filled to the limit with instruments. The affect of this cumulative atmosphere transports you right out of Boston to a nondescript side street in the French Quarter. I love it already.

The place is pretty full even at 6:30 and they are short staffed – the barman is running late, so the host is tending drinks. So getting a glass of wine and a table takes a few extra minutes. I am so enamored of checking out all of the art, I don’t even care. When the bartender finally does arrive, his white shirt is open and his bow tie is slung around his neck, but not tied. I immediately think of him as just finishing up playing a gig somewhere and racing off to his night job. It’s so New Orleans-esque, I wonder if the unkempt look was intentional.

When we finally do sit, the band is just getting started. It’s very loud, which makes it a challenge to catch up with our friends. On the plus side, the music is excellent – upbeat and authentic. The lead is a rail-thin lady in her fifties who plays the hell out of the sax. It was very cool to see a woman playing, since jazz is usually dominated by men. Our tiny waitress is friendly and helpful with the menu, though I had to ask her to come over and stand right next to me so I could hear her. We order a huge pile of food while simultaneous wolfing down the delicious corn muffins that the host has brought over.

Abandoning all care of my arteries, I order – yup, I am a little sheepish to even admit it – fried chicken, with sides of mac & cheese and collard greens. My cohorts order more of the same, as well as ribs, mashed potatoes, rice & beans, and… “Chicken & Waffle.” I am assured that this is a true Southern tradition. “Friend of foodie” tells me it comes from the days of the jazz musicians heading home from the clubs at dawn and stopping for a meal – it was sort of dinner and sort of breakfast, so chicken & waffle was born. I love this, not only because we’re ordering the weirdest thing on the menu, but also because I am a total tramp for useless trivia. I am a ringer in Trivial Pursuit. This is so going into the mind vault.

Our dinners come quickly and the portions are generous. Now, I am about to give you my thoughts on the meal, but I first need to say, I am far from an expert on this type of cuisine. There are those in the food world that have spent dozens of years perfecting the right fry batter and coating for the chicken, as well as technique for getting just the right crispiness and color in the fryolater. I make boring, health-concious, baked faux-fried chicken at home, so basically any true fried chicken is good to me. And Bob’s is. They call it “glorifried” – cute, right? The fried coating was thick and super crunchy and just a touch spicy, with a healthy dose of black pepper. The meat itself was a little dry. The sides are also quite yummy. The mac & cheese is good, with a nice baked top and visible curds of cheese, and the collard greens are excellent, spicy (red pepper?) and flavored with onions and, perhaps, chicken broth. Bites of Paul’s dinner also showed off really tasty mashed potatoes as well as ribs with a nice smokey-sweet sauce, though again, the meat was a little on the dry side. The only true disappointment of the meal was dessert. Having seen sweet potato pie on the menu, I was hankering for that. Sadly they were out of the sweet potato and I ordered the pecan pie, which the waitress proclaimed, “pretty good.” She was generous. It was pretty bad. While not a great ending, the overall meal was terrific – though probably just a once a year treat. I am still full the next day!

I’d give Bob’s Southern Bistro at 604 Columbus Avenue in the South End a B. Be sure to have an extra side! Oh, and skip dessert and order another cold Red Stripe. The latter will be way more satisfying and still gives you squatter’s rights to a table, so that you can linger over another jam or two from the band.