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Sunday, October 28, 2007

The Fried Chicken of Whose Dreams?

Personally, I'm not a huge fan of chicken. I'm more than mildly disturbed by the chicken industry, and the only way I can manage not to think about it is to generally avoid eating chicken altogether. However, a few weeks ago, I stepped out of my office to the sudden and intoxicating smell of fried chicken. I knew it was KFC, which never was my favorite. Nevertheless, off I marched to the Taco Bell/KFC down the street from where I work where I ordered fried chicken with macaroni and cheese instead of my usual 7-layer burrito. Needless to say, it didn't take more than a couple bites to make me not hungry anymore.

So it was up to Chris to judge The Fried Chicken of Your Dreams at Firefly last night for our anniversary dinner. The verdict? "The fried chicken of my dreams doesn't burn the top of my mouth" and "the fried chicken of my dreams doesn't have any dark meat" and so forth. These statements were mostly facetious, but you do have to be very careful when you claim that an item is as good as anything Chris or I could imagine. You open yourself to the most obvious backlash. The real review? "The chicken was perfectly serviceable." Well then. Keep in mind that Chris is from the south and has on more than many occasions sampled the finest home fried chicken his childhood friends' mothers' ever had to offer.

I, on the other hand, had the best pork chop of my life. I can't even remember when I even had a steak that excited me as much as that maple-glazed grilled chop with grain mustard sauce. Oh wait, yes I can. That steakhouse in Boston. I think it was Grill 23. (I'm not convinced that's it. The pictures don't ring a bell, but the menu's right on. I did have a lot to drink that night. Sales people can drink a frightening amount of alcohol.) Back to the pork chop. It was thick, juicy, perfectly grilled and flavor-full. I picked the meat off the bone. I don't usually do that...anymore. The Rioja treated me very well, and the Pumpkin Brioche Bread Pudding fulfilled an autumn seasonal craving - freshly toasted pumpkin seeds are just way too much trouble to make at home.

I'll also let you know, dear readers, that I won an argument with Chris. He figured Firefly for a destination restaurant. I was certain the place would be full of locals - and when I said locals, I meant Noe Valley locals,, not Bay Area locals. When we arrived, the place was full of families and groups who were very obviously Noe Valley residents. Even so, I did run into a guy in the line to the restroom who claimed to be local but had driven over from Oakland. Hmm. If I feel like a tourist when I leave my own neighborhood in San Francisco, this guy definitely supported Chris's argument. There were several couples there, too. It's hard to say where they might've come from, but I feel confident that none of them had to get on a plane somewhere between their houses and the restaurant.

Labels: food, San Francisco