The AI Moment

"AI will probably most likely lead to the end of the world, but in the meantime, there'll be great companies."

-Sam Altman

Pondering on how AI may destroy civilization as we know it. But first, a word about fried chicken.

Yesterday after class P and I took the D train express all the way up to 145th Street, for the lunchtime treat of Charles Pan Fried Chicken at its flagship location in the heart of Harlem. The guy who owns the place is a James Beard nominated chef, and the conventional wisdom here is that their chicken is the finest in the City.

The train got us there in a half-hour, and we emerged into a brilliant sunny afternoon. Harlem is a lot more rolling than lower Manhattan, but if you grew up in the '60s and '70s it's not what you picture at all. Lots of gentrification going on up there.

When we arrived at our destination, it was more chaotic than it should have been given the relatively small crowd. The only tables are outside, and all were taken. Inside two guys were manning the restaurant, one at the skillet and one at the counter, and there was a line to order that didn't seem all that long, but also didn't seem to be moving. I pondered ordering online and taking a walk around the block, but then noticed that after we'd been there over five minutes they finally got around to taking the next order, then turned away from the crowd to go back to cooking, and filling plastic containers with yams and collard greens. I counted heads and did the math, concluding that we'd be there a half hour at that pace before we saw any actual food, which of course we'd be forced to eat standing up.

I'm sure the food is all it's cracked up to be, but P and I aren't much for waiting in line. We stepped off down the hill in search of alternatives.

Finally we came upon another soul food place, Jacob Restaurant.

Inside we found three rows of buffet tables, filled with chicken and greens, yams and butter beans, salad and fresh fruit for those so inclined (I demurred). The food is sold by weight, and my cardboard to-go box was drooping with soul food goodness. The very black guys behind the counter were from Ghana, Burkina Faso, and maybe parts of the Caribbean. They were nice but their conversation utterly unintelligible--they speak Aka and Moore back home, from what I read.

In the back of the restaurant was a spotless but spartan dining space, with original paintings of west African life and a giant television tuned to nothing.

The food? Solidly okay but not great. The chicken was dry, and they hadn't mastered the Southern practice of cooking everything in bacon grease.

Was I going to write about AI? Maybe some other time. Back to studying.