Once upon a time, goats roamed the neighborhood at the base of East Rock, having wandered off from their 19th-century Irish immigrant owners. And so the neighborhood was called, with derision that evolved into affection, Goatville, and like those long-gone ruminants, I’m not inclined to quibble over its exact boundaries. Then again, that might be a fun topic to discuss at a neighborhood bar that calls itself The Crooked Goat.
In the late 20th and early 21st centuries, the same address, 974 State Street, was home to J.P. Dempsey’s, a bar remembered for its warm atmosphere and carpet of discarded peanut shells, at least by those who aren’t recently arrived grad students. Now I’m the newb, as I discovered on a recent Saturday night.
And because, unlike the namesake animal, I have only one stomach, I brought three more, a.k.a. my family. In the summer, it’s possible to eat al fresco, but we opted to dine inside, where a quick look at the menu told me this was not going to be the kind of meal where you think, Wow, I feel like I’m in Europe.
Instead, the “Southern-inspired kitchen,” as the website puts it, leans into the American pastime of giddy consumption. Twice-smashed burgers. Dishes bumped up to “goat style” with “voodoo sauce.” Mac and cheese that can be taken from regular to “hellfire.” But it isn’t just excess for excess’s stake. The Crooked Goat wants to remind you that indulgence at your local bar can be a form of self-care and a way to connect with your or someone else’s neighborhood. You deserve to go where people want to know your name and, while you’re there, to treat yourself to a bowl of White Trash Fries ($16.95). That’s what I did. Said fries are topped with gravy, pepper jack,and braised beef. As with many things on the menu, an upgrade was available (pulled pork, $4). The fries were cut to the ideal pinky-finger diameter, and the beef was more like pot roast than barbeque, which was surprising but not unwelcome; after all, there were pickled onions and fresh jalapenos for vinegar and heat.
The Crooked Goat emphasizes craft beer, whiskey and cocktails, most of which are classics with a Southern twist and a goat-themed name. I ordered the Billy-Vardier ($14): brisket-washed bourbon, Campari, and Cheerwine. As a transplant from the South, I didn’t require the menu’s explanatory footnote on Cheerwine, which “the champagne of the Carolinas,” but if you do, just imagine the cherriest of sodas. I wasn’t hoping for the cocktail to be Cheerwine-sweet, but it has to be said the Campari was the dominant flavor, even as it metabolized like a big ol’ glass of Maker’s.
It was the only drink I ordered that evening, and I still needed a fair amount of food to soak it up: a po’ boy, gumbo, chicken tenders and biscuits. And I haven’t even mentioned a special menu, the Bob’s Burgers supplement (available every quarter or so for a limited time; check their socials), which featured five additional burger choices, each chock-full of toppings and puns. We ordered the Okra Winfrey ($14.95), which was absolutely delicious, even though the titular ingredient got a bit lost in the deluge of other fixings, most notably some really great, really gooey pimento cheese.
Despite the invocations of hell, I didn’t find anything terribly spicy. The voodoo chips that come with sandwiches have a nice tingle (a few had been in the fryer a tick too long, but the serving was too generous for that to matter), and the hot honey added a welcome note to the 3-piece chicken-tenders-and-biscuit ($14.95). That night’s Gumbo of the Day ($16.95) had chicken and sausage with a roux so deep and dark that I almost wished it was snowing outside, the better to huddle over it in the black leather banquettes and nurse a bourbon without any red stuff in it.
That meal ended with a tussle over the last beignet and a cloud of powdered sugar that may still be hanging over East Rock.
If there’s one thing the Crooked Goat wants to teach me, it’s that less isn’t more, so I went back for a separate visit, this time without a family in tow. I rolled up at the bar with a friend early on a summer evening and sat next to a regular sweating over his bowl of gumbo (“voodoo sauce,” he panted). She had the French 974 (gin, lemon, hibiscus lavender syrup, and prosecco, the name a combination of the classic cocktail and the bar’s State Street address). It was pink and perky and perfectly suited to the 100-degree day. With its Drink of the Moment option ($14), the menu invites customers to “give us a base spirit, a few descriptive words and let our bar staff thug it out.” After a brief interview and a congenial-enough bartender conclave, I received a take on a Paper Plane (Michter’s bourbon, amaro, Aperol and lemon), which struck an excellent balance of bitter and sour and sweet.
And of course, there were still things on the menu I hadn’t eaten. A mandatory-feeling order of Fried Green Tomatoes ($12.95) was, thankfully, not just green slime in a purse of breading but a stack of interesting juxtapositions: modest breading, griddled ham, arugula, a swipe of that pimento cheese. The sleeper hit of the evening: Cajun Meatballs ($14.95). The pork-based balls, one of several nods to New Orleans and Louisiana, were nestled in a bowl of cheese grits, which our server nearly lost her hand trying to remove prematurely. Whereas the Saturday meal had tended toward piling, our ladies’ night orders arrived beautifully plated. For the sake of thorough reporting, I asked for a sample of the voodoo sauce, which I hadn’t yet tried. On a scale of hot things you can eat in New Haven, it’s just beyond an Archie Moore’s wing, hovering between medium and hot at Haven Hot Chicken. Not blasting weapons-grade spice, it packs as much flavor as heat.
This is a bar with stories to tell, and not just about the past. The menu at The Crooked Goat is endlessly playing with influences from Chef Joey DeLucia’s travels, his New Haven Italian roots, his cookbook collection or a story someone tells him about a really good sandwich. The Joe’s Chicken ($16.95 as a sandwich, $18.95 as an entree) with its Allagash-lemon-garlic-butter sauce references a Dempsey’s dish that had been on the menu since 1992. The concept is indeed “Southern-inspired” rather than full-stop Southern, e.g. the chicken doesn’t have bones unless you order the wings. The MeMaw of MeMaw’s Potato Salad (side serving, $6) may not totally resemble your own personal MeMaw, but, based on my experience, the Crooked Goat will also love you up by spoiling you.
Written and photographed by Sarah Harris Wallman. Image 1 features the Cajun Meatballs. Image 2 features, from left, the Billy-Vardier, the Gumbo of the Day and the White Trash Fries. Image 3 features, from left, a Drink of the Moment and the French 974.
