Last night’s weather: awful.
Nearly caused widespread panic. Nearly caused you to move to Aruba.
But you didn’t. And now today’s a new day.
An 82-degree day. A day with 36% humidity, 0% precipitation and... 100% chance of rotisserie chicken.
The source: Kokoriko Natural Rotisserie, a sunlit hamlet of succulent roast chicken and ice-cold Colombian beer, opening this Friday in Brickell.
Picture a countryside hacienda. Now, fill it with fresh Colombian roses, bright brick facades and a bunch of chicken. There. Now you have a low-key lunch spot you can deploy at a moment’s notice.
Upon arrival, you’ll approach the counter next to the glass-encased spit and place your order. But, here, let’s make this real easy for you. You’ll have the chicken. It’s free-range. It’s marinated in a blend of Latin American spices. And it’s been slow-cooking on that spit for over 48 hours. Consider what that means for the skin.
Next, you’ll settle into a stout wooden booth, or if the chicken-eating conditions/breeze is just right, a table on the outside patio. Linger over sangria while filling up on regional staples like ajiaco (that’s “potato soup”) or corn pancakes (that’s “corn pancakes”).
And if you happen to come by this weekend, you’ll find the entire menu is being offered for half off. Tremendous news if you like chicken.
Terrible news if you actually are one.
Nearly caused widespread panic. Nearly caused you to move to Aruba.
But you didn’t. And now today’s a new day.
An 82-degree day. A day with 36% humidity, 0% precipitation and... 100% chance of rotisserie chicken.
The source: Kokoriko Natural Rotisserie, a sunlit hamlet of succulent roast chicken and ice-cold Colombian beer, opening this Friday in Brickell.
Picture a countryside hacienda. Now, fill it with fresh Colombian roses, bright brick facades and a bunch of chicken. There. Now you have a low-key lunch spot you can deploy at a moment’s notice.
Upon arrival, you’ll approach the counter next to the glass-encased spit and place your order. But, here, let’s make this real easy for you. You’ll have the chicken. It’s free-range. It’s marinated in a blend of Latin American spices. And it’s been slow-cooking on that spit for over 48 hours. Consider what that means for the skin.
Next, you’ll settle into a stout wooden booth, or if the chicken-eating conditions/breeze is just right, a table on the outside patio. Linger over sangria while filling up on regional staples like ajiaco (that’s “potato soup”) or corn pancakes (that’s “corn pancakes”).
And if you happen to come by this weekend, you’ll find the entire menu is being offered for half off. Tremendous news if you like chicken.
Terrible news if you actually are one.
