When thinking of "Southern food", Wet-Nap happy New Englanders get so caught up in BBQ, it's almost as if they've completely forgotten the gruel that made Joe Pesci a lawyer: grits. Dip below the Mason-Dixon for real, with Tupelo.
From the owner of Petsi Pies and the former public access host of "Don't Call Me Chef", Tupelo (the name of a honey-bearing tree native to the South) purveys "comfort food w/ a Southern flair" offering incestually authentic Louisiana recipes in a redwood-walled 45 seat space w/ white tile floors and chocolate wood tables (mmm...tables). Highlights start with entrees like the crispy fried catfish w/ fresh green tomatoes and pickled jalapeno aioli; daube of beef braised in red wine w/ Creole horseradish cream; and spinach-filled, smoked mozzarella-topped crepes that've been beer-battered, aka, what the French'd eat if they had the same freedom of obesity we do. Smaller goodness includes fried oysters w/ green tomatoes & tartar sauce, jambalaya, etouffee, and southern-spiced turkey meatballs w/ a wedge of French bread "for mopping up", which seems redundant when the place definitely has professional janitorial equipment.
If your teeth are sweet, Tupelo's got bread or banana pudding, Toscanini's ice cream, and freshly baked pies from Petsi -- one bite, and you'll agree they totally gruel.