My pal Josh, who I know through my guilty-pleasure freelance gig (rhymes with Gus Freakly), also writes about cheap and delicious food for various rags around town. He is the original Dumpling Man, in my book.

Now he just published a column (his regular NY Press gig) about discovering homemade, hand-delivered-to-drunks-in-bars fried chicken in Brooklyn.

Brooklyn is cooler. Damn.