Just DON'T Order the Fried Chicken.

Generally, if Plotnik isn't sure about a show, he goes and reads other reviews of the same show, just to find out if he missed something really obvious. When he just read all the reviews on YELP for Tasty's Creole Cajun Kitchen, he was surprised that everyone really liked the place. But they had all eaten the gumbo or the Po' Boys. Not one had tried the fried chicken.

So Plotnik is willing to say that he might have just ordered the wrong thing and maybe he caught the cook temporarily off his meds. Before last night Plot would have said the greasiest food he has ever eaten would be the burger at Tommy's in LA (pictured above. Better get a napkin for your keyboard).

Now The Great Plotnik Restaurant Review Division would go on record to say that the fried chicken at Tasty's Creole Cajun Kitchen, caddy-corner from Saint Plotniko General Hospital (no mistake) is the most disheartening solution ever to the question: How can we club a bird to death and then cook it in the greasiest, most gruesome and tasteless way?

The pieces must have been frozen, so they left it in the deep fryer for a very long time, after rolling it in a batter of egg shells and roofing compound. When you tried to cut into the large greaseball blob that turned out to be a thigh (it was round, kind of like a knish or a dimpled, brown softball), blood oozed from near the leg bone, and mixed with the case-hardened crust which was not only unchewable but drenched in grease. Plotnik got grease on his glasses by poking the thing that turned out to be a drumstick, disguised as a brown, oozing log.

And salty! Duck ordered gumbo, which was pretty good the first two or three swallows, but you didn't dare touch her sweet potato fries or Plotnik's regular fries because both had been rolled in salt, then deep fried, then dipped in salt, then deep fried again, then opened up and more salt poured in, and then covered in salt before serving, next to that poor dead chicken.

The gumbo was worth ordering, actually, if overly salty, especially if the only other thing on the menu that day was the chicken. Given only two choices, rather than that fried chicken you might prefer the dog foot in its own fur.

Understand, Plot and Duck only went there because they had purchased a groupon -- in fact they bought two. A bar with Cajun food? How bad can it be? And after drinking a delicious IPA and pretending they were actually in Liuzza's in New Orleans they figured they were on their way to a great meal.

At least the service is friendly and the food is cheap. Plot remembers paying $24 for two pieces of -- fairly decent -- fried chicken at Maverick's or just about as much at The Front Porch, and at Tasty's they give you three pieces and only charge $9.50. True, you can't eat it. But it doesn't set you back too much.

"Are you finished or do you want to pick around some more on your plate?" the waitress asked, surveying the mound of greasy, bloody and crusty sludge on Plotnik's plate, with a few bones mixed in and most of the meat buried somewhere down there along with the heart attack medicine.

"I'm done," said Plottie, and he left a nice tip, because she was really nice.

Here's the worst part: They also make New Orleans-style Po'Boys and the Plotniks have one groupon left.