On the low, some of the best fried chicken spots in New York aren’t fried chicken spots at all. They’re Jamaican spots. Since the focus of this blog so far has been chicken wings served at Chinese joints, we’ve neglected the larger fried chicken trend going on in the city. That may change. But let’s start with the Golden Krust lunch special.

Many people would turn their noses up at the mere mention of Golden Krust — it’s a chain after all. And nearly every Golden Krust franchise I’ve been to suffers from poor lighting along with years of apathy and dust having gathered around the corners like moss. But this one is different. The franchise on Flatbush Avenue opened about a year ago. The “Employee of the Quarter” placard is updated on time. The service is fast enough and cheerful. And the menu turns daily according to a schedule I haven’t quite figured out yet.

A couple days a week the lunch special option includes fried chicken. I get mine with rice-and-peas, and either stew chicken or oxtail gravy on the rice. The chicken goes on top, followed by the cabbage packed into the back of the container. It’s glorious. Something about the chicken resting on top of the gravy gives every third bite a juicy extra kick. The gravy would be distracting if the whole serving was covered in it, but these people know what they’re doing. And the price is right.

During yesterday’s trip to Golden Krust one of the kitchen guys referred to the curried goat dish as mutton as he delivered a tray to the front. A customer asked why he said mutton and not goat. Turning back to the kitchen through the double doors he shouted over his shoulder, “because in Jamaica, everything we say, we say it sexy!” Everyone laughed.

The fries were a little starchy. That was the first clue that something was going to be off. When I first found China Wok on a beautiful fall Sunday, I had unsuccessfully tried three other neighborhood joints. Exotic Roti Express, a favorite Caribbean place was closed, the fish-fry market smelled too fishy, and at the Indian spot next door the guy didn’t even look up from his phone after thirty seconds. It felt like an omen when a brand-new-looking Chinese spot was next door. There was even a fish tank on the counter.

The service was extra polite, too. But, like I said, starchy fries. The wings were crisp but lacked flavor. It was kind of like when a movie has all your favorite actors, but it’s directed by Brett Ratner. In other words, omens are good, but you still gotta deliver that flave.

The Mighty Quinn’s stand at Berg’N, a beer hall that features a rotating cast of four food stalls, has held down the number four slot for a long time. It’s not the flagship of the Mighty Quinn’s empire, more like an outpost. But once I started ordering from there, I haven’t ordered from anyplace else at Berg’N.

If I weren’t writing a wing blog, I might be writing a barbecue blog. But the facts being what they are, I got an order of wings. Now, there are two competing facts that make this review tough to write. Number 1: the sevice, that day, was attrocious. Number 2: The wings were delicious.

I’ve ordered several times from Mighty Quinn’s and the service was only bad that once. But it was rough. Something like a half hour wait. No communication. And it was clear my order didn’t make it from the register to the kitchen until minute 20 or so. On to the wings.

Sticky, sweet, with the tiniest hint of crunch. Yes, I licked my fingers. The chives and sesame did their evanescent thing, too. Enough to make reaching for a beer feel like a reward for a job well-done. Smoky flavor. The wings were excellent. The fries (I’m sorry, the pommes frites) are served with some kind of newfangled foodie ketchup. Heinz might be better. And while I admire the effort that goes into hand-cut fries, in the end they were a little too salty, too crunchy.

There’s a mixed metaphor going when a place that serves “burnt ends” puts “pommes frites” on the menu. And there’s probably an irony in someone who writes about food in styrofoam containers complaining about service. So we’re not a perfect match, Mighty Quinn’s and me. But I’ve been there before going to write this review. And I’ll go again.

On the trip to Lin’s Garden I was encouraged by three things — a) there was incredible afternoon light, b) the name is simple yet evocative, and c) the kitchen is very clean. Unfortunately, the food is blah. In writing about some of the lesser joints on this blog, I now see that it will be a challenge to come up with more creative ways of saying, “these wings tasted like cardboard.” So, these wings tasted like the cardboard at the back of a legal pad. Meaning, it feels like an accomplishment to get there, but it’s still just another faded brown piece of paper.

To be honest with you guys, a shockingly large part of the reason this blog is even published is so that an image of a Chicken McNugget being dunked into a small tub of barbecue sauce could be created. Let’s not mess around with the particulars. At just the right time of night, with just the right amount of liquor in the belly, a 10-pack of these bad boys with fries is just what the doctor ordered. Just don’t do it too often. Or you really will be seeing a doctor.