NOTE: I wrote several things for AOL's laughably incomplete "African American Local Scene" feature. This is one of them.

The visually calming wood paneling and comfortable booths aren't the only reasons a meal at Roscoe's will feel like going home. From the comical attention of Momma, the waitress (who will very seriously bend the hell out of your ear if you leave your elbows on the table), to the house specialty drink, "sunrise" (orange juice and lemonade mysteriously kept separate from one another), Roscoe's is one of the city's oldest and finest dining traditions, a local chain with five restaurants from Long Beach to Pasadena. Most thrifty patrons are quick to come in and order a #9 (three wings and a waffle) while hearty eaters rush for a whole half chicken, all fried meticulously in vegetable oil and seasoned with all the love of a church dinner.

The Pico restaurant stays open late on many nights -- despite some mild concerns from local politicians and residents about safety -- but the intelligent, skillful security staff on site ensures no problems arise. Street vendors sell portraits and mix tapes outside on some afternoons, and there's often a long wait (and no reservations) on weekend nights. It's worth enduring every distraction when you finally sit down to the traditional breakfast of Southern black folk who wouldn't eat pork, and when you're done eating, the youthful crowd often provides plenty of eye candy to make your experience complete.