By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
Last week, I had some underwhelming chicken at Pope's. Since then, my fried-chicken stomach has been super pissed. After almost a week of letting FCS relentlessly hurl unkind words at me (including, but not limited to, "Jeggings are awesome!" and "Scarlett Johansson is a talented actress!"), it was time to cut the crap, shut this stomach up and get myself some really good fried chicken. I begged the fried-chicken gods to point me in the direction of some real-deal, crispy fried chicken. They had only one answer: Chicken House.
Drive up to the Chicken House and you'll see a handwritten sign that says *Now accepting Visa*. Awesome. Restaurants with homemade signs offer up delicious food. I'm not talking about those "Special of the Day" signs at Chili's on the fake-neon-chalkboardy things. I'm talking about a handwritten sign that's all sweaty and greasy and has clearly been up on the wall for decades. One of my faves at Chicken House reads *Fried Apple "pie" $.075*, and I'm giving it double points for use of (hopefully) unnecessary quotation marks around the word "pie." It must be that the people who make the food here are like, "Fuck going to Kinko's to print a real sign, I gotta get this fryer going!" And God bless them for that. (Also God bless them for offering delivery for $5.)
When I was ordering food, the sweet smell of that chicken grease messed with my head so hard that I couldn't tell the nice lady at the window what I wanted. Pretty sure all that came out was, "Drumstick? Wait—chicken finger?" And, like magic she decoded the super huge menu and told me what combo I needed.
Chicken House 909 N. Fitzhugh Ave. 214-370-0800
Handwritten signage count: 50 Years of life shaved off from eating here just once: 2.1
My plate arrived with a crispy drumstick, an Andre The Giant-sized giant chicken tender, bread, seasoned fries and picklesnpeppers. (Beware the picklesnpeppers: pickles and peppers living together in one little plastic bag. They're spicy little fuckers.)
The chicken here was really juicy. Better than Pope's, almost as good as Henderson's. The chicken tenders, though, were amazing. I know you're like, "It's just a chicken tender, how good can it be?" And to you, I say, please never come to Chicken House. That way, the line stays short for me.