Fried chicken: A beautiful thing
Nothing beats the simplicity of a moist piece of meat, delicately seasoned and baptized in a pool of sizzling fat
Gussied-up fried chicken made simple at home. (Los Angeles Times/Glenn Koenig)
Nothing beats the simplicity of a tender, moist piece of meat, delicately seasoned and lightly dredged with a dusting of flour, and then baptized in a pool of sizzling fat to crisp, golden perfection.
Quintessential comfort food that it is, fried chicken is unpretentious. No haughty airs here. Eating with your fingers is not only acceptable, it's all but required.
So maybe it's a little surprising to find that fried chicken has become the hot culinary muse of the moment. Fine cuisine, meet fried chicken.
One look at the recent crop of cookbooks tells you that chefs everywhere are jumping on the fried chicken bandwagon. Thomas Keller's Ad Hoc recipe may look homey, but there's an unmistakable air of educated refinement. The Bromberg brothers' cookbook from their restaurant Blue Ribbon reinvents the Southern staple as "Northern Fried Chicken," breaded with matzo and dipped in honey.
And then there's David Chang, whose recipe in the Momofuku cookbook tosses out the crust altogether. Instead, the steamed birds, without batter, are treated to a skinny dip in hot oil before being dressed with a glossy, tart vinaigrette.
It all kinda feels like "Project Runway." But with chicken.
While lovers of classic fried chicken agree that the dish may be basic, they'll also acknowledge that good fried chicken requires technique, time and dedication. Good fried chicken is not "fast food."
But what exactly is that perfect technique? This is where fans disagree. Everyone has the one true method for perfect fried chicken. And everyone else's is heretical.
After a couple of weeks testing recipe after recipe, I have some very firm opinions of my own. And some super-greasy clothes.
Good fried chicken starts with a good bird. Yeah, it may sound like a no-brainer, but you'll taste the difference. Bred mainly for size and appearance, too many commercial chickens suffer from a terrible lack of personality. If you want flavor, spend a few extra bucks on a quality bird.
And yes, size does matter. Many classic fried chicken recipes call for pullets — young small hens. Even many newer recipes call for smaller birds, somewhere in the range of 21/2 to 31/2 pounds. Many modern chickens weigh as much as twice that.
Not good. With fried chicken, you've got to cook the meat to moist tenderness in the time it takes the outer crust to fry to a crisp golden brown. Too large a bird and the crust might over-color (read: burn) before the meat cooks through.
Try game hens
One trick I found is using Cornish game hens instead of chicken. The flavor is good and they're small enough that the meat cooks through without burning the crust. Substitute a couple of game hens for a standard chicken called for in a recipe; they usually come in packs of two, which makes it even easier.
So what about seasoning? Some recipes call for a brine. Though brines can be great for adding flavor and moisture, if you use good birds and cook them properly, they'll stay moist. And there are other ways to season.
My favorite seasoning is a simple dry rub. Season the bird with salt and just a few ingredients — don't complicate things — then toss it in a bowl and refrigerate the pieces to give the rub time to work. The seasoning will have plenty of time to soak through the meat overnight. I'll use salt, garlic, a chopped fresh herb or two and a little acid (I like to use a little fresh citrus juice and zest).
The next morning, toss a couple of cups of buttermilk in the bowl and marinate the chicken for a few hours to lend a little extra flavor. The bird won't be in the buttermilk long enough to tenderize the meat, but the buttermilk will add nice tang.
About an hour before frying, gently shake the pieces free of the buttermilk and dredge. The classic coating is a little seasoned flour, which works just fine — a light coat sticks to the buttermilk, giving it a nice, not too thick crust. For a thicker crust, dredge again (dip the piece in a buttermilk or egg wash first, or let it dry a bit, then dredge again).