I am of the general opinion that one should not have to spend a lot of money to get a good piece of fried chicken. Chicken itself isn't expensive, nor is flour or oil. However, some of the best fried chicken I've ever had has been from the not so cheap Kingfish Cafe in Seattle and the definitely not cheap ($18) Georgia Brown's in Washington DC. That said, I have, in my search for truly great fried chicken, avoided the fancier spots in town. Perhaps because if I'm going out for an expensive meal, I would rather not order a dish that I can get much cheaper from the Shell station on the way home. The husband, however, knows no financial bounds when it comes to finding the perfect food. He therefore decided to take me to Flying Fish one recent Sunday evening, where the fried chicken has been reported to be the best in town. I, of course, will be the judge of that.
I haven't been to Flying Fish since I first moved to Seattle and was looking for a fancy restaurant to have my mom take me to when she was visiting. On that visit, I had softshell crab for the first time, and it was delightful. When the husband told me that this was his plan for my fried chicken search, I was not as thrilled as he had hoped. First of all, I told him, I'm the fried chicken lady, and I get to decide when and where I want fried chicken. Second, Flying Fish doesn't scream "down home fried chicken" to me. Third, what if I look at the menu and decide that something else, like perhaps fish, looks better to me than fried chicken? Then I'll feel obligated to order the fried chicken since that's what we'll be there for, and it had better be damn fine fried chicken, or else I'll be disappointed I'm not eating fish. Ungrateful? Perhaps, but these things can't be forced.
We decided to have an early dinner at 5, and although the restaurant was totally empty, the hostess seated us in the upstairs balcony area, which mildly annoyed me, but pleased the husband since he caught the distinctive smell of urine on the main floor as we walked in. I, luckily, was suffering from allergies and could smell nothing. I avoided looking at the entrée portion of the menu so as not to torture myself with fish I wasn’t allowed to have. Instead, I focused on the appetizers and decided to have the field greens salad with gorgonzola croutons, blueberries, and a vinaigrette. The husband was taken with a pickled watermelon and fried proscuitto dish and wanted to ask the waiter about it.
Strike one for the waiter came before he even opened his mouth simply because he had a ponytail. Now, I realize that this is completely petty and unfair, and one should really not judge a book by it’s cover, but a ponytail? It’s 2006, and the grunge phenomenon is long dead. Please, gentlemen, for the love of god, get a haircut. Strike two came after the husband asked about the watermelon dish. Turns out, the pickled watermelon and fried prosciutto was tossed with mint and cilantro. Sadly, the husband hates cilantro desperately. It tastes like soap to him, and he picks it off of anything it comes on, which these days is virtually everything. When ponytail waiter saw poor little husband’s face fall at the utterance of the c-word, and after the husband explained that he really didn’t like cilantro, ponytail waiter said something like, “Well, we really do it right here, not like other places where they just use way too much. That’s what makes it so overpowering.” Sans attitude, this statement may not have pissed me off. It’s true that some places may use way too much cilantro, and it can overpower other flavors. Unfortunately, ponytail waiter was also snooty and explained this to us as though we were imbeciles. Nevertheless, the husband decided to order the watermelon dish, because fried proscuitto is simply too delicious for him to pass up.
Snooty ponytail waiter aside, what’s really important is the food, and the appetizers were delightful. The gorgonzola croutons on my salad were in fact breaded and fried chunks of cheese, the blueberries were sweet, and the vinaigrette was light. The watermelon was even better. I’m not sure what it was pickled in, but the fruit was sweet, the proscuitto crispy, and the mint and cilantro herby (although the husband did pick off the cilantro).
The chicken took a very long time once the appetizer plates were cleared, but once it arrived at the table, I understood why…it’s oven fried, not pan fried. It looked quite good, aside from the very black burned bits. The crust was made of something other than flour, perhaps panko or cornmeal, and was very flaky. It was served with mashed potatoes that both looked and tasted like butter and chard that was too bitter for my taste. The chicken, while perfectly cooked, was unfortunately very bland and greasy. The breading seemed unsalted, a crime as far as I’m concerned, and although I’m sure the chicken was brined to achieve it’s amazing tenderness, none of that salt remained.
I’m not sure if I was disappointed in the chicken because I set myself up to be or because it wasn’t that good. I’m leaning toward option two. Flying Fish is a well-respected restaurant with delicious fish, and perhaps that’s what they should stick to. Just leave the fried chicken for those who know what to do with it.
