Rarely will you read anything positive about any big franchise or fast food outlet on these digital pages. I mean, I love In-N-Out Burger. But I think we can all agree that place is an oddity. If there's a silver lining in the mass production of food, it could only be consistency.
But consistency is key in certain dishes. Take for example, fried chicken. It's simple, yet complex. Easy to get, hard to make ... well, hard to make perfectly. We've all had some wonderful fried chicken at soul food joints, diners and small town family restaurants, crunchy on the outside and juicy, tender goodness inside. I have, too, and then forked open the second piece on the same plate to find a greasy, soggy, frighteningly under cooked mess. There's a science to fried chicken, a formula that must be executed to absolute precision every time. The Colonel has a formula, but ... come on, it tastes bad.
Which brings us to Popeye's. This is the best fried chicken I've had in Las Vegas. Yes, it is a massive chain, growing even larger with about 10 restaurants scattered about the area. But it's perfect every time. That skin is crispy, crunchy, unhealthy greatness. To see what it is that sets Popeye's apart, you must order it spicy, full of peppery heat embedded in those crunchy outer bits. A mouthful of tender meat with a crust of this stuff is the best bite of bird. Complement it by cramming buttery biscuits into your face, and finish it off with the most anti-fast food side dish available at any fast food joint in the history of fast food: thick, spicy, stomach-expanding red beans and rice.
This is the real. This is why KFC is called KFC instead of its original, politically-incorrect moniker, and this is why the Colonel is trying to sell you grilled chicken now. Not Popeye's. They are emphasizing Louisiana roots, hyping recipes passed down through generations, and proudly cholesterizing me whenever they want. Fried chicken. This is it.
No comments:
Post a Comment