Posts by krista

Oct 19

Chain Links: Hitting the BRIC Wall

Chains wanting to expand into foreign markets are having a hard time finding executives with the know-how to localize menus and navigate business issues abroad. Sometimes you have to add squid and corn to a pizza or sell beer with your burgers.

There is a sandwich chain called Spicy Pickle, and it will be arriving in Qatar next year. I don’t know what makes ham, cheddar, honey mustard, apple, spinach, and tomato, on grilled marble rye Basque, and don’t expect Doha residents to be any less confused.

I vowed never to speak of Pei Wei again, after last year’s sham of a contest where they chose a finalist who couldn’t use palate properly. But if you find yourself in Mexico City in the near future, craving crab rangoon, your needs will be met.

Did you know there was a Union Square Cafe in Tokyo? I wouldn't be surprised if there were stealth replicas of other notable restaurants stashed around Japan either. I be that their La Grenouille wouldn't trigger Paris Syndrome. (I know many French stereotypes are exaggerated, but even so, I havea million cities I'd rather visit first–I'm currently considering São Paulo, Lima, Istanbul, Los Angeles, and Reykjavik for a post-Thanksgiving jaunt, though I'll probably end up in Montreal like I often do that time of year.)

It seems that everyone wants to break into China, India, and the Middle East, but maybe chains should consider Russia and Colombia too. There was a time, not so long ago, when I did not know what BRIC stood for. Now I'm a better person.

Chili's opened in São Paulo and are serving five different caipirinhas and various dishes showcasing picahna, a popular cut of meat that's equivalent to top sirloin.

McDonald’s in Brazil has the CBO, a.k.a. chicken, bacon, onion sandwich that originated in Europe. Brazil has everything.

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Oct 18

Van Horn

1/2 Van Horn is one those places like Rucola, Strong Place, Court Street Grocers, Brucie, and countless others walkable from my apartment, that get enough chatter without me adding to it (plus, I haven’t eaten at any of them). Maybe you’ve heard of Van Horn’s fried chicken sandwich? Up until last week, I nearly felt like I’d eaten it already.

Now I have. It was impressive in person, the lightly battered chicken breast bulging out of its sesame seed bun. The weird thing was that the red cabbage slaw tasted more like shredded beets in that dirty way the root vegetable can. It added a healthy aura too. This was haute Chick-fil-A , not a substitute.

I prefer my Southern sandwiches to be less virtuous, though, and the PLB oozing with pimento cheese and further greased-up with bacon (then toned back down slightly with a lettuce leaf) was the exact late-ish night snack I had been looking for. The cheese blend was complex and hinted at more than mere cheddar and mayonnaise (in fact, they use garlic aioli).

It’s easy to poke fun at artisanal updates to classics (I’m still surprised that it took a mayonnaise shop to finally push the food world over the edge) but the hushpuppies–super light and nearly creamy inside–were better than anything I was served in North Carolina last month. The honey butter didn’t hurt their case.

By the way, these horrible photos were taken by my horrible phone, which I replaced with the new iPhone two days after this meal. Eventually I cave to most trends (though I’m stating right now that these scrunchy socks will never appear in my drawer or on my person). However, the jury’s still out on apps like instagram and foodspotting (hipstamatic is banned on name alone) and that’s because I’ve been trying to cut down on food photos, not increase my output (and I kind of hate social sharing, despite embracing Twitter and well, blogging before blogs formally existed, even though sometimes I feel like I’m missing out on something indefinable). I’m loathe to give up the SLR for portrait-worthy foodstuffs, even if it makes me a so-called food paparazzi, but I can’t see a camera phone, even a good one, replacing my real camera. Do people actually use both in one setting? I’m afraid of the future now.

Van Horn * 231 Court St., Brooklyn, NY

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Oct 12

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Uncleansed

Zeppelin Hall
Somehow a Saturday juice cleanse (never attempt such nonsense on a weekend) segued into an Oktoberfest celebration at a Jersey City beer hall. By 6pm I felt cranky, useless, and zombie-like, which may have had more to do with caffeine withdrawals than a lack of solid food. I carried beet juice in my purse but ended up with a mug of Spaten Oktoberfest and a shared bratwurst. I am a failure at detoxing and can’t go without one meal a day (today was breakfast and dinner juicing with a Trader Joe’s burrito for lunch and that’s as good as it will get). I would not even continue perpetuating the juicing sham if I had not paid good money for a discounted 18-bottle supply from RueLaLa late one pathetic night. On the walk from the PATH to the subway I noticed the new all mirrors, glass, and flatscreens-filled so-called gastropub, The Fulton, that had replaced The Blarney Stone. Ugh, an opening night party was in full-swing and was pure Meatpacking District mashed with Murray Hill. Will bros and the tanned, hair-straightened ladies who love them really make the Financial District a regular habit?

The Vanderbilt
The Vanderbilt is very likeable, even though I’ve never given it a proper post. I wouldn’t call it a destination even though we drove there and have done so numerous times, and it’s clearly popular because there’s almost always a wait unless you go on the late side. James pointed out (it was his pick) that we don’t have any restaurants like it in our neighborhood. Bullshit, I thought. Doesn’t the entire northwest swath of Brooklyn have small plates (what some like to refer to as tapas) coming out if its ass? But then I started drawing a blank. I can’t think of anywhere in Carroll Gardens that serves well-priced snacks and sharable dishes with an American bent. Things like charred brussels sprouts with honey and Sriracha, perfectly caramelized, sweet and spicy, or the crispy little slab of pork belly flavored with smoked maple syrup and surrounded by cheddary grits. I don’t even like hot dogs and appreciated the Bird Dog, a foie gras and chicken tube steak on a potato roll with fat patatas bravas-esque fries. Nearly nothing is over $14 and plenty of wine is under $10 a glass. I’m still trying to think of a comp in a ten-block radius from my apartment.

Maria’s Mexican Bistro
I never wanted to eat at Maria’s when it was in Park Slope, but now that it’s in Sunset Park it seems ok. Sometimes you want to eat in that neighborhood but feel like more atmosphere and reprieve from potentially blasting jukeboxes. My trio of enchiladas came with three different fillings—shrimp, chicken and queso fresco—and an equal number of sauces to match. Despite the bandera in its name, tomatillos, red chiles, and mole equaled green, red, and brown. White? Brown? Whatever. One of the flashier things to order is the molcajete Norteño, which is a bunch of sizzling shrimp, steak, queso fresco, and peppers served in one of those nubby lava rock vessels commonly used to pound guacamole in).

Waterfront Ale House
I’ve never had anything except the cheeseburger at this bar with a bustling dining section, and was a little wary after my last experience dealt me a medium-well instead of medium-rare. And I was especially nervous after waiting for 20 minutes on a weeknight after 9pm with harried (it’s a popular place with some oddly high-maintenance customers). I don’t send things back anyway, but if you had to and it took half an hour to receive your food in the first place, would you bother? No worries, the cheeseburger was perfectly pink and juicy with just a little sog; the brioche bun always stays together. Half of the fun is deciding which condiments to use from the twenty or so mustards, ketchups, and assorted savory liquids and goos displayed next to each table. Sweet-hot Inglehoffer mustard and green chile Tabasco for the burger and a mix of ketchup and chipotle Tabasco for the fries, followed by a blob of fruity HP and a dash of Outerbridge’s Sherry Peppers sauce on my finger because I always forget (flavor memories are just as weak as my normal memories) what the unusual amber liquid tastes like. Like alcohol and habaneros. I will return when fall finally stops feeling like summer and have a glass of their famous eggnog. Eggs, cream, sugar, and liquor is the anti-juice cleanse.

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Oct 12

More Cheap Eats

Real Cheap Eats has been given a fall update with 50 new listings. I visited Holy Schnitzel and Taqueria Puebla, both in Staten Island. Tripe-filled soup and kosher sandwiches? Why not?

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Oct 9

Chain Links: Spongebob & Oregon Steak

Budget Travel rounded up fast food chains in foreign countries. Germany’s Nordsee caught my attention, not just for its fresh seafood, but because its mascot bears a passing resemblance to Patrick on Spongebob.

While it could be easily argued that deep-dish pizza, burritos, and Hawaiian cuisine are iconically American, I’m having a hard time associating Oregon with steak. The Oregon Bar & Grill in the Shiodome district does just that, using Oregon beef and wine as a selling point. Does Oregon really have that much cache? The connection appears to be Portland-based McCormick & Schmick’s, which is affiliated with this restaurant in Japan, despite no mention of it on its site.

For all of my fascination with American chain adaptations in the Middle East, one obvious difference never occurred to me. Generally, women and men unless married or close family members don't sit together, requiring separate entrances and seating areas for solo males and families. And tables in the family section must be curtained off (women don’t eat with a veil on) like this example at a Saudi KFC. These are the constraints that the Melting Pot, treated like a date place in the US, has had to work with in Saudi Arabia.

Famous Dave's is opening in Winnepeg.

Justin Beiber and Selena Gomez were spotted eating at an Outback Steakhouse in São Paulo.

Tim Hortons opened in Dubai.

In higher end news, the shuttered Tavern on the Green will be reborn as a chain and could spread around the world. Also, Le Cirque has opened a branch in Delhi.

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Oct 4

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Town House

Town House, off I-81, past a McDonald’s, over a bridge and train tracks, blends into the row of businesses along Main Street in Chilhowie, Virginia, population 1,688. One doesn’t end up near the nexus of Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, and Kentucky by accident. I went on a Labor Day weekend, just because I could. For me, one of the best parts of growing older (I’ve been under the delusion that middle age was one step away from death, but apparently it now kicks in at 35) is being able to do something on a whim for no other reason than I want to. (Next half-baked urge to make reality: eating ceviche and lomo saltado in Lima.)

Bolstered by creativity and obscure location that’s gastronaut-bait, Town House would fit in nicely with the up and comers featured in the recent Wall Street Journal article about restaurants on the verge. (I know you didn’t ask, but I was surprised to see that I’d been to two of the eight: Benu for my last birthday and El Cellar de Can Roca way back in 2006 before it had three Michelin stars.)

You start with a leaf. The only thing edible in this assemblage is the curved, dewy leaf. Both more minimalist and maximalist than the single lettuce leaf that opens a meal at Blue Hill at Stone Barns.

Chilled Vegetable “Minestrone.” This is the dish that first got my attention in other posts and articles. I love rainbow food, whether naturally occurring or chemically induced. The curls of many-hued vegetables didn’t just catch my fancy; a photo of this dish appears on the cover of the 2011 Opinionated About U.S. Restaurant Guide that they were handing out to customers as they left (apparently, they’d been given a box and didn’t know what to do with all the books). Extremely purist while fanciful rather than stark. This would be a good dish to play a how good is your palate, vegetable guessing game.

“Gazpacho” of Summer’s Foliage. More quotes. The only way this could taste more green would be if moss was involved. Shiso, green bean leaves, zucchini, and pickled coriander were all present. A granita hidden by the leaves tasted of green tomatoes, and created a contrast of temperature and texture.

Barbecued leeks. Only now that I’m thinking semi-analytically about the food instead of simply eating it, I’m seeing how color plays such a strong role. This dish looked, smelled and tasted of cinders and contained something called smoked mussel “ash.” Charred leeks, hazelnuts, and those mussels were half-smothered by a cool pile of melting gray fluff. This was a stand out.

Sweet Corn, Chicken, Lovage & Oats. The oats make it sound so wholesome. The chicken skin—which I love seeing instead of the ubiquitous pork—took care of that.

Abalone in Brown Butter & Butter Whey. All the burnished browns and golds didn’t prepare me for the lime leaf that perfumed the seafood (a scallop was also in the mélange) and softened onions. Deceptively Thai-flavored.

Turbot Cooked With Cream & Spruce. I knew it! Those pine needles were bound to show up at some point. The sappy flavor, though, was as delicate as the fish.

Beef Cheek…Pastoral. This was one pretty plate of overflowing trends. Grass is there (I want to say that chlorophyll was also mentioned, but maybe I’m blurring that with the phytoplankton at Blue Hill at Stone Barns) and hay infuses the translucent milk skin draped over the meat. What really startled me was the shredded beef tongue floss. This was the third time I’d encountered what I had originally thought was an unusual preparation in four months! Mugaritz, Castagna, now Town House. Where next?

Border Springs Farms Lamb Shoulder. More striking color. Beets, smoked, dried, and blended with licorice to form a “Bolognese,” were as prominent as the red-glazed peak of meat.

Cantaloupe & Toasted Farro. Ugh. I shudder every time I think of this beast of what I think is considered a dessert. This was the worst dessert ever! Not objectively, of course. I just happen to hate melon (listeria will not get me without a fight). I know that savory meal-enders are in fashion (that long pepper, ginger thing at Castagna also sent me into fits) and I enjoy seeing the boundaries that chefs tinker with (especially in our cupcake, whoopee pie, and other Americana-crazed sweets climate) but these sensory clashes are still like art to me, and more appreciated than loved. Thin carrot rounds top a mound of ice cream studded with chewy grains and flavored with ginger and wild sassafras. The cantaloupe hides inside ready to spring out and terrify. Turmeric creates the yellow swirls. By the way, at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, a similarly textured dessert also contained cantaloupe, but semolina instead of farro. Someone’s trying to kill me with creativity.

Broken Marshmallows. Also unorthodox, but melon-free, hence more likeable. I’m perfectly fine with geraniums, cucumbers, green strawberries, and stiff, sticky whipped cream masquerading as a dessert.

When you think you’d eaten everything, a meringue-like chocolate stump is presented to eat with your hands. The green wasabi-and-lime tufts add spicy-tart intrigue.

The food is so colorful, yet the room is so brown. No distractions.

Town House * 132 E. Main St., Chilhowie, VA

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Oct 1

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Lexington BBQ & Jimmy’s BBQ

Even though I have a tendency to issue caveats when talking about iconic American food like barbecue—I’m no regional expert—I would not liken the taste of North Carolina barbecue to roadkill. I will say that I like meat with more chew, bone-in preferably, so if I generalize this Southeastern state’s pulled pork style, it’s really just a pile of mushy meat, delicious mush for the most part. The key seems to be inclusion of many textures, fat and skin plus burnt ends, bark as some call it, to add flavor, interest, and moistness.

So, I ate the western style, more specifically Lexington style. What’s the difference? From what I’ve gathered in the east they use the whole hog, mince the meat finer, and wouldn’t include any tomato in the chile-flaked, vinegar sauce while in the west they use pork shoulder and a chunkier chop; the sauce might be more red. Wood-smoking is a dying art either way. Gas is taking over.

This is Lexington BBQ’s version on a small bun. I probably should’ve ordered a plate to assess the meat in its pure state (but Keaton’s chicken was already taking up precious space) especially since many would consider Lexington BBQ as the gold standard. It was kind of just a sandwich, frankly. Despite using wood—oak, to be exact—no pronounced smoke flavor was present. A love of consistent textures was apparent; both cabbage and pork were chopped to an unusually fine consistency until meat and vegetable nearly blended into one savory mass.

They did have the best hushpuppies—light and moist inside with a golden crust—we ate all weekend.

I never did get the banana pudding I was led to believe was a local specialty. They weren’t serving it on this Saturday. The warmed peach cobbler with a block of vanilla ice cream smashed on top was probably better anyway. (How good is banana, whipped cream, and ‘Nilla Wafers really? Tell me it sucks, or I’ll feel worse for missing out.)

Sunday is slim pickings. Not much is open. One restaurant listing their hours called Sunday Church Day. Day of resting and eating, in my world. Jimmy’s, far less populated than Lexington BBQ, saved us.

This time I got the plate and opted for coarse chop (sliced was also available) to really taste the meat. I’m a little hesitant to call this barbecue dry (though I wouldn’t be the only one who has said so) but the hunks with skin attached were far superior to the interior pieces. Here, you are served a side of warm sauce to dip the meat into and also provided with a house-made hot sauce in a squeeze bottle.

All the spice and vinegar, plus the slaw crunch, elevates the meal from a pile of mush.

I thought of hushpuppies as a french fry alternative but it turns out they’re equivalent to rolls. French fries are default and the roll or hushpuppies question must be answered. These weren’t as good Lexington’s, though the dryness was helped by a dunk in the sauce cup.

I will say that the waitresses at Jimmy’s were the nicest we encountered all weekend. I was curious about something called a skin sandwich, which turned out to be cracklings on a bun. They were out on a Sunday (yes, we already had a shopping bag full of cracklings in the car, but I wanted to experience freshly fried and put on a bun with hot sauce) but at least our server checked to see if they couldn’t scrounge something up for me to go. They couldn’t; no harm done.

I especially like how everyone’s giant Styrofoam cups of iced tea are constantly topped off, that they remember if you had sweet or regular, and you’re given a refill and a lid for the road. You can never be too hydrated.

Lexington BBQ * 10 US Hwy 29 70 S, Lexington, NC
Jimmy’s BBQ * 1703 Cotton Grove Rd., Lexington, NC

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Sep 28

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Gyro Crazy

Umi Nom
Yeah, yeah, Do or Dine is the Bed-Stuy BYOB joint of the moment, but I haven’t even been to Umi Nom yet. I’ll be seeing that foie gras doughnut in 2013. Umi Nom, which really isn’t that Filipino despite many online references to it being a Filipino restaurant, very much deserves a full write-up and three shovels, but I just remembered my 2011 vow to blog less about what I eat (ha, I have not used this category since June). Initially, I wondered why someone would pay $2 for three hot sauces, a seemingly audacious menu option, but after tasting the fiery, fish-saucy red accompaniment to the sweet sausage and sticky rice I realized chef King Phojanakong knows how to blend chiles and aromatics. I’d pay $2 to sample more. This was my favorite dish followed by the not-that-traditional adobo pork belly in an opaque sauce. I only wish I had ordered rice to temper the saltiness even though I’m trying to go easy on starch. The rice vermicelli with grilled beef was kind of dull (it needed more fish sauce funk in the dressing) and the pork stuffing in the spring rolls reminded me more of lobak in their denseness (I liked, James not as much) than cha gio (which they weren’t advertised as). Three out of four hits and a 2009 bottle of Keller Riesling Trocken equaled a pleasant Saturday night meal (mixing beer, tequila and an Aviation at Black Swan afterwards was pleasant at the time but not so much Sunday morning).

Gyro King
As recently as two years ago I’d never eaten a gyro, and now I’m a pro. Well, not really. While exploring Ditmas Park (and realizing a house for sale that we had been looking at was technically in Midwood) for potential livability and searching for turmeric (Key Food nor any of the bodegas/delis around Foster St. had it) we stumbled upon a Pakistani street fair on Coney Island Ave. I picked up a box of mithai at Gourmet Sweets and was coerced into takeout from Gyro King, which is like street meat but indoors, and found a goldmine of turmeric and was regaled with stories about its magical medicinal properties. Also, I learned that some Pakistanis like making a beverage out of the yellow spice, which is going too far if you ask me.

Waterfalls
A new Wednesday night ritual involves picking up something from Waterfalls and then having a few drinks at Last Exit or Floyd after my evening Spanish class nearby. This time, a split falafel sandwich (pitas wrapped around and things and held together by foil are gyros, right?) and lamb schwarma platter. I wish more places stayed open past 10pm on weeknights along the corridor of Henry Street from Atlantic Avenue to Fourth Place.

Blue Ribbon Brooklyn
Someplace sit-down with real food on the later side. A shared half-dozen Beausoleil and Kumamoto oysters were followed by a lamb steak with couscous and spiced chickpeas. The food always strikes me as a few dollars more than it should be, and I’m always attracted the appetizers like the bone marrow or steak tartare but feel they’re inadequate for a dinner entrée, but James likes going and that’s fine if he’s paying. Overheard at the bar in regard to an speedy oyster shucker: “Look at that Mexican nigga!” Ok, then…

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Sep 26

Capital Grille

The lord giveth…and taketh away. I eat at Capital Grille, the Darden-owned steakhouse would feel more appropriate in the downtown of a mid-sized city, and then mere days later discover that Little Lad's, my favorite vegan, Seventh-Day Adventist restaurant hidden in the basement of the same Financial District building, has packed up and moved into a Lower East Side church. I somehow feel responsible for setting this chain of events into motion.

Even though I only work three blocks away, it’s not like dining at Capital Grille crosses my mind with regularity. At lunch its business is drawn from surrounding offices, at night, especially on a Friday, the showier than expected—live band, taxidermy, and a private dining room in a former bank vault—bi-level restaurant was luring tourists hard. Camera in hand, I was certainly pegged as one. Using a 30% off discount from Savored might have not helped my case either (hey, Savored is classy—I do think getting rid of the Village Vines name was a good move). This does not bother me at chains. If there’s one thing they’re good for, it’s serving as Manhattan havens from the food trend obsessed.

And how trendy could a steakhouse from the people behind Olive Garden and Red Lobster be? (To be fair, it’s much higher end brand than their LongHorn Steakhouse.) Meat and seafood is the story.

Chilled oysters (of what provenance, I couldn’t even tell you) and lobster-and-crab cakes with corn relish. I like the lemon wrapped in netting touch.

A medium-rare porterhouse with a good amount of char, fattiness and the slightest bit of funk (which I like). Even as a chain-admirer, I tend to stay away from Outback Steakhouse and its ilk because the beef barely has flavor. This is a real steak with a real steak price ($47) and real calories (980–one oddity of being a chain is that the menu must list them). Truffle oil was in the air, so I acquiesced and shared a cone of parmesan truffle fries (only 30 calories less than the steak).

The bank vault. Capital Grille is not the only restaurant on Broadway with such a feature.

After you’ve been identified as a tourist (this generally only happens when I’m in other countries, and it’s really weird when you’re traveling alone, taking pictures of your food and someone, especially a guy, asks if you want your photo taken and you have to say yes because that seems like the right answer even though you might not like having your picture taken) that the inevitable, “Do you want me to take a picture of you?” question arises. I don’t, because the result is generally horrifying.

If I were a tourist I might be bothered by the amount of garbage piled up across the street.

Capital Grille * 120 Broadway, New York, NY

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Sep 24

Price’s Chicken Coop & Keaton’s BBQ

I’m not going to blow your mind with any North Carolina revelations. I was only there for a weekend (with a jaunt to Virginia in the middle) and stuck with common knowledge (if you’re a Roadfood/Chowhound type) regional favorites. Frankly, that’s the way to go. Without naming names, Charlotte’s entry into “farm-to-fork” dining was a total dud (you tout so-called small plates but don’t allow sharing without a surcharge?) and the two revamped diners on the same block had service so misguided that it bordered on abusive.

Ok, then, chicken. You will not go wrong with fried chicken, especially not at Price’s, a takeout counter always lined by bodies, ordering, waiting, pondering…ok, I was the only one really scrutinizing the menu, both on the outside window and the ancient version covered with computer-printed price addendums above the cashier ladies’ heads. Everyone else knew exactly what they wanted.

I settled on a half chicken mixed (dark and white meat) with default tater rounds (I forgot to ask for hushpuppies, the favored starch in these parts) and coleslaw, regular coleslaw, unlike ruddy, spiced version I encountered at barbecue joints. The skin was thick and crispy enough to hold up hours later (this was just for pre-dinner nibbling) and seasoned primarily with salt and a good deal of pepper, nothing fancy.

Chewy gizzards fried fresh on the spot are an ideal snack to gnaw on. I felt like I wanted to dip them in something, though. Maybe a few shakes of vinegary hot sauce would’ve been right.

Now Keaton’s is a whole other bird, fried and sauced. About an hour north of Charlotte, the roadside bunker sits miles and miles into fields, legitimately in the middle of nowhere Pre-internet, how did word spread about these far-from-hubs eateries?

Inside, it feels like a big rec room that happens to have a counter and kitchen attached. The wood-paneled walls are filled with faded prints, latchhook art and clippings of long-deceased owner, Burette Walker Keaton, many with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. According to one of the guys waiting for his takeout order who was pushing the limits of the posted no shirt, no shoes rule mumbled something in a hard to decipher manner (I think I have the Northern version of that affliction) about how he always had a cigarette while cooking.

There was also a sign banning photography of staff members. The room was not this empty, I just waited for the opportunity between tables turning to quickly snap a shot lest I be targeted as a rule-breaker. (I’d already shunned the sweet tea and couldn’t risk appearing like even more of an outsider).

If one person orders sweet tea, they will be given an entire pitcher. Sure, the ice takes up a lot of room in the ubiquitous giant Styrofoam cup (standard issue at every casual restaurant in the region) but that’s still a lot of sweet tea. For the record, the sweet tea at Price’s hit a new high in sugar content. I’m not convinced there was even an ounce of tannic leaf-derived refreshment in that syrupy blend. I ordered a bottle of Cheerwine just because I could. A little of the cherry red soda goes a long way, but it sure is pretty.

I was expecting a sweetish, tangy barbecue sauce but the red stuff was more complex, peppery with a little kick. I did order hot. There was a vague jerk vibe, too; maybe allspice was at play. I had been wondering if the fried skin+sauce would approximate a Southern version of Korean fried chicken, but no, not really. The saucing rendered the crispy skin secondary. It wasn’t as superfluous as dousing shell-on crab a la Singapore, which I’ll never understand, but the beauty of the frying process does get mitigated once soaked in warm liquid. This was good chicken, but I missed the crunch. That’s the spicy slaw I was talking about above–and a slab of mac and cheese.

The pop-pop of shotguns rang out in the thicket of trees across the street from the parking lot. I have no idea what was being hunted, but at least it gave more credence to the camo and guns crew that had been dining inside Keaton’s.

Price’s Chicken Coop * 1614 Camden Rd., Charlotte, NC
Keaton’s Barbecue Chicken * 17365 Cool Springs Rd., Cleveland, NC

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Posts by krista

Chain Links: Hitting the BRIC Wall

Van Horn

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Uncleansed

More Cheap Eats

Chain Links: Spongebob & Oregon Steak

Town House

Lexington BBQ & Jimmy’s BBQ

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Gyro Crazy

Capital Grille

Price’s Chicken Coop & Keaton’s BBQ

Featured

Occasional Instagramming

Yes, it’s come to this

My Other Blogs

What?

The Past Will Haunt You

Pigeonholing 101