“Do you know how much bad fried chicken is out there?”
The question nags Chef Jerry Regester. With only one fryer at his restaurant, Spotted Duck in Pacific Grove, he can’t commit to serving fried chicken. His recipe requires patience and lower oil temperatures. Regester is not one to take shortcuts.
“If I can’t do it right, why do it?” he reasons.
Others have wrestled with the matter. Jim and Susan Culcasi, owners of Rosine’s in downtown Monterey, took the dish off their menu some years ago. When Dudley Ashley took over Sur in Carmel’s Barnyard, he debated pulling fried chicken from the list, as well – despite its popularity.
“I lost sleep over the chicken,” he admits.
Now, if you start ticking off the restaurants carrying fried chicken, there are a lot. But a certain style has been cast aside in the proliferation of tenders, sandwiches, wings, waffles and global presentations such as karaage.
Once a familiar bit of homey comfort, now only a few kitchens prepare traditional Southern fried chicken – a whole bird, cut into pieces with the bones in, brined, breaded and fried.
It seems simple enough, but there are a lot of pitfalls waiting. The dish can fall prey to aggressive brining. Overcooking can both dry out the meat and burn the crust beyond recognition. Undercooking? That’s even worse.
Shortcuts can cause just as much carnage. A pre-cook in the oven can throw off timing in the oil, for instance. But find the patience and temperature that cooks the meat through to its juicy best while the crust reaches a compelling golden hue – that’s the stuff of church basement legend.
There’s a reason, however, that the style became the American preference. Southern fried chicken is a tactile experience. Order it at Googie Grill in Seaside and you feel it. Eventually one must forego public niceties, set aside the silverware and grab a piece by hand.
Hence the mental struggle chefs have with the classic dish. “We want to do bone-in chicken,” says Rudolfo Ponce, chef and owner of the Italian-ish Rudolfo’s in Pacific Grove. “We want to serve it family-style.”
On Sunday’s, Ponce turns his attention to chicken with his in-house pop-up Heatwaves. And it’s a busy place – so popular, in fact, that the chef hasn’t had the free time to refine a more standard recipe.
Although the focus of Heatwaves is on the Nashville hot style in sandwich form, the chef heeds the call of the rural South. Fresh pieces of chicken are put through a wet brine to infuse the meat, then air-dried. This helps the skin crisp up when fried.
The care involved in the preparation is perhaps why fried chicken became synonymous with Sundays and summer holidays.
“It’s not that difficult, but it is a process,” explains Rosendo Reyes, chef at Sur.
Everyone from professional chefs to grandmothers stick to their own tried and true technique. Regester recommends the chicken take a full day of downtime in buttermilk. Reyes favors a five-minute dip in a mix of buttermilk and eggs. Before that, he lets the pieces sit in the refrigerator for two hours with the same crisp skin goal.
Typical Southern-style fried chicken is either dredged in flour, coated in batter – or both. The seasonings used are, of course, family secrets.
And so it has gone since Scots-Irish and Scottish immigrants began settling in the colonial South, bringing their version of fried chicken with them. At least that’s the theory posed by food writer John Mariani in The Encyclopedia of American Food & Drink.
The Sur chef won the chicken debate, by the way. It remains on the restaurant’s menu. He did, however, tweak tradition a bit by creating a gluten-free crust studded with herbs that is thinner and more fragile, but perfumes the glistening meat.
Reyes also honored tradition by ditching the frozen pieces he says the previous team relied on in favor of fresh chicken.
And that is why kitchens have turned to boneless pieces or wings that fry quicker and require less attention.
“They’re doing volume,” Ponce explains. “This takes time.”