Black-eyed peas for New Year's Day

My first New Year's Day in New York City, I was panic struck: where was I going to find my annual dose of black-eyed peas? Not having any of the ingredients on hand and with all the stores closed, I was afraid I'd spend 1996 poor and unfortunate. Call me superstitious, but I reckon I need all the help I can get. So after much wandering around the Upper West Side, with only slice joints and the occasional Chinese take-out open for business, a friend suggested we go to Harlem.

But of course! Being new to the city, I hadn't visited Harlem yet because it still had a bad reputation (that would, fortunately, soon be reversed). But if I didn't have my black-eyed peas for wealth and luck, I was certain to be doomed. So we decided to take a chance and go to Sylvia's.

Well, the first two taxis refused to take us there (because Harlem was considered dangerous—sheesh!) but once we finally arrived, all was well: Harlem wasn't scary, Sylvia's was warm and welcoming, and we all had our fill of slow-cooked black-eyed peas dripping with peppers and bacon. And I became a frequent visitor to Harlem's excellent soul food restaurants—everything from church kitchens to the all-you-can-eat buffets with the diners and fine dining establishments thrown in for good measure. But I'm not here to talk about Harlem, I'm here to talk about black-eyed peas.
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