It all started about a year ago.  You know when you taste something and just can’t get it out of your head?  My husband and I were driving through Brooklyn, famished, and our usual West Indian haunts were closed.  We happened to drive by this one, completely unassuming restaurant in Crown Heights and watched in awe as grown men and women sashayed up to the door while Latin music bumped from the inside out.  One lady, with a slightly extra hip swing, had on a full jean-style jumpsuit.  Curiousity peaked, we went in.

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I wrote about a Michelin-starred restaurant last week, so it’s only right that I give equal opportunity to a more low-key spot, close to home, that I adore.  No food snobbery here.

Shortly after my husband and I met a number of years ago, he had his tonsils removed and could eat nothing but liquids or semi-solids for about 2 weeks.  Needless to say he was a complete baby about the whole affair, but I was a doting girlfriend at the time bringing him smoothies and soups to his heart’s content.

Sometime that second week, he decided that he wanted wonton soup…no, not from the Chinese place around the block, but from a Trinidadian-Chinese (umm, LeeKong anyone?) takeout spot deep in Brooklyn, the Royal Bakery & Roti House.

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