I’ve received some off-line questions about my recent meal of Chicken Hearts. So: Yes, it was part of a Rodizio meat orgy. No, I did not go to Newark’s Iron Bound. I stayed in Astoria, as there are many Churrascarias here. We went to the one that claims to be the oldest, Girassol, which is just a few short blocks from our house. Service was great, despite a language barrier (“Would you like some ting to drink?” somehow brought us hot tea) and the decor is comfy. The art on the wall is uncommonly subtle and good for Astoria. Plus there was some killer fucking hot sauce on the table — an iron cup with scotch bonnets and al arbols stewing in olive oil. Hats off!