I had two meetings yesterday in Harlem.  Fortunately, the second one was over lunch at the Red Rooster. Oh my! Deviled eggs to die for.  Homemade lemonade.  Cornbread that “came from heaven” according to our wonderful waitress (and her sense of direction was pretty good).  My main dish (an appetizer) was described on the menu as: Yep, Chicken & Waffles circa 1930 Smoked maple syrup, salsa poblana, b&b pickles I pretty much licked the plate clean. And I had a side of Spring succotash to boot: asparagus, favas, peas, corn, crispy shallots. Man, nobody does lima beans like people whose culinary traditions come from the South. Not familiar with the Red Rooster? Don’t worry. Neither was I. But my assistant (who gets bonus points for this find), knew of it and also knew it was steps away from where the first meeting took place. So that’s how Howard Zar—the director at Lyndhurst—and I ended up chowing down at the Red Rooster. Just your typical Jewish New Yorker and transplanted southerner hanging out together over great …