Some days I wish I were a French woman. They are so effortlessly chic, able to limit themselves to no more than three bites of anything, and smoke and drink with no apparent consequence. Then, there are the days I go to Dinosaur BBQ in Harlem and thank God I’m an American. Here, gluttony is encouraged, even expected. Case in point: wet naps are handed out alongside your heaping plate of pig heaven…a little wink to the fact that once your food arrives you will do very un-French things like rip meat off rib bones like an animal and shamelessly lick sauce off your shirt. That’s okay. We are Americans, and man, it is sexy in its own way. You may have to wait a while for a table but that’s okay because their bar beckons with an amazing selection of microbrews and the bigger brands we all know and love. Go. Immediately.