Monthly Archives: July 2017

Chirping Chicken

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Last winter, I wrote somewhat of a strange review of Roll-N-Roaster, a fast-food-ish restaurant way, way out in Sheepshead Bay. In that post, I explained that I don’t really know what it is about Roll-N-Roaster that so attracts me, but as time’s gone on—and as I’ve spent more and more time at Roll-N-Roaster—I’ve realized something: that one of the reasons I so love the place is that it’s an indecisive glutton’s heaven. Everything goes with everything else, and nothing’s too expensive, so it feels as if I’m meant to show up starving, fail to make a single decision, and then end up with a little of everything. At Roll-N-Roaster, there’s no shame in that. Or minimal shame, at least.

Roll-N-Roaster, then, meets this recurrent desire I have to eat as if I’m at a buffet—or as if I’m a particularly territorial and competitive buffet diner, rather. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I crave that sort of decision-free, pseudo-tasting, shove-an-entire-mixed-and-matched-medley-into-my-mouth-in-one-single-sitting dining experience on a regular basis. Roll-N-Roaster, though, is far too much of a schlep to work as my go-to fix. Here, friends (and acquaintances who like to keep tabs on what I’m up to, and food-allergy moms who evidently get a kick out of these write-ups), is where Chirping Chicken comes into play. It’s absolutely nothing like Roll-N-Roaster, but it’s just as viable a DIY buffet, and that is what really matters.

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Beyond that, I’m not quite sure what Chirping Chicken is. Google Maps describes one location as an “American restaurant,” one as a “Greek restaurant,” two as “Chicken restaurant[s]” and one as just a “restaurant,” and honestly, I have no clue which classification, if any, is correct. I do know what they serve, though: burgers, BBQ, steak, burritos, seafood, soups, salads, sandwiches, various “Greek specialties,” and, oh yeah, chicken—rotisserie chicken, fried chicken, grilled chicken, chicken nuggets, chicken fingers, chicken wings, and chicken just-about-everything-else, too. There’s a lot. It’s a trip, and it doesn’t make any sense. But almost all of it is safe, at least.

The folks at Chirping Chicken don’t cook with any nuts, but they do sell a number of desserts, made elsewhere, that aren’t safe. One is pecan pie, and while I’m definitely allergic to pecans, I don’t mind the pie’s presence, given how low the odds of cross-contamination are between the dessert and non-dessert portions of the menu. As for that non-dessert portion of the menu, I’m pretty confident that it’s all fine. (And if you call and ask, whoever answers the phone will assure you that there are no nuts in anything. Press on the pecan pie and they’ll always explain that it’s made elsewhere—which is just the sort of consistency I look for.)

As for the breads: I don’t remember the name of the company that makes the pita, but I’ve examined its packaging, and there’s no “may contain” warning for nuts (which is enough for me when it comes to something as simple as plain, mass-produced pita bread). And their ciabatta—the only other thing I’ve felt the need to look any further into—is made by Aladdin Bakers, and is safe, too.

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Now. Strictly speaking, Chirping Chicken is not a Good restaurant. Admittedly, the menu’s a minefield. There are the uncharmingly funky sides—the Kraft-tasting macaroni and cheese, the textureless potato salad (see for yourself immediately above), the overly acidic cole slaw, the insanely mushy rice, and the world’s most boring fries—and there are the lackluster salads, built on the backs of some of the most flavorless leaves of lettuce I’ve ever had. There are the shitty dipping sauces (the honey mustard’s half water, but the alternative is ketchup—and half of the other sauces, the ones you have to pay for, are just packets of salad dressing). And then there are all those random menu-rounder-outers—all those dishes they seem to make just because they can—that I’ve never tried, but that I’ll probably go on avoiding regardless.

But Good is not the only sort of good, and there’s plenty I love about Chirping Chicken, even beyond the whole decisionless-buffet-of-maximalist-pleasure thing. The rotisserie chicken’s usually great, and I’ve been known to enjoy a number of the other dishes, too. There are some decent sides, and nearly everything benefits from a little tzatziki. Plus, the menu’s so ridiculously large that there are probably about ten million ways to throw together a glutton’s meal. (If you haven’t noticed, I’m really into exploring and experimenting and discovering fun combinations that, on their best days, amount to far more than the sums of their parts. Plus, I’m actually not categorically opposed to sub-par food. Like I always say, it’s all about your expectations.)

Anyway. The rotisserie chicken’s my favorite thing on the menu, and though it’s great on its own, I like it best paired with pita, red beans (immediately below), and tzatziki. (When I say “paired with,” I mean “eaten in the same bite as.” There’s something about a meal made of meat stuffed into tiny sandwiches, man. Wholesome fun.) The chicken is admirable—well-seasoned skin, plenty-juicy meat—and the pita, though store-bought, is served warm, which helps its texture immensely. The red beans aren’t anything special, but they’re red, and they’re beans, and the flavor’s solid. And for me, at least, a moderate (okay, grotesquely large) schmear of tzatziki ties all of the above together rather nicely.

Chirping Chicken's red beans

Of course, I don’t stop there. Though I’m not much of a wings person, I actually sort of like the plain wings (they’re crisp, and I like crisp), and I straight-up love the chicken tenders (second above), which are an absolutely flawless execution of a dish that surprisingly many restaurants somehow manage to mangle. I haven’t tried the nuggets, but I’m sure they’re good, too—and honestly, I have a niggling curiosity about the baby back ribs, a bunch of the “Greek specialties,” and the ribeye (I know). Plus, sides. I’ve found almost every one I’ve tried to be more-or-less intolerable, sure. But I’m nonetheless itching to try the mozzarella sticks, the onion rings, the macaroni salad, the sweet plantains, the baked potatoes…

You know, to see how they fit in with the rest of the makeshift buffet I’ve so lovingly slapped together.

Find Chirping Chicken at 350 3rd Avenue, between 25th and 26th; 587 9th Avenue, between 42nd and 43rd; 355 Amsterdam Avenue, between 76th and 77th; 1560 2nd Avenue, between 80th and 81st; or 940 Columbus Avenue, between 106th and 107th. (Though it’s by no means the closest to my apartment, I tend to go to the one on Amsterdam. It’s open until 2am, and the employees sometimes throw me freebies.)

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A Guide to Nut-Free Chinese Restaurants in NYC

At this point, I’m basically a broken record: “Nut-free Chinese food is hard to find.” “Nut-free Chinese food is hard to find.” “Nut-free Chinese food is hard to find.” Yeah, we get it—and anyway, if you’ve found yet another occasion to start off yet another post with yet another iteration of that fresh and shocking information, doesn’t that just mean you’ve found yet another nut-free Chinese restaurant to write about, thereby throwing yet another point of evidence out there that sort of, you know, contradicts whatever it is you’re trying to say…? Um, yes, Italics Voice. Yes. I’m repetitive, and the repetition is in itself actually sort of paradoxical, which is why I’ve decided to drop the shtick altogether and put together a guide whose very existence implies that nut-free Chinese food is both hard and easy to find. Because really, it’s both.

So. Here’s my one and only truly original contribution to this world: a list of all of the tree nut–free Chinese restaurants I’ve found—so far, because if putting this guide together has taught me anything, it’s taught me that there are undoubtedly many, many more where these restaurants came from. You’re welcome.

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Dorado Tacos

A grilled-steak taco from Dorado Tacos

Here’s a hot take: Because they’re such a flexible, malleable, all-purpose food, tacos are the ideal lunch option. Lunchtime is unpredictable, and when I’m sitting in my morning class, paying full attention and definitely not idly wondering what’s for lunch, there’s not all that much I can know in advance. I don’t know how hungry I’ll be come lunchtime, nor do I know what sorts of flavors I’ll be in the mood for. All I know is that my class will end, and I will leave, and then I’ll be on the sidewalk, seconds tick-tick-ticking away as I scramble to figure out where the fuck to go before I run out of time and have to resign myself to, like, on-campus Chick-fil-A.

With tacos on the agenda, though, the Problem of Lunchtime Unpredictability sort of just evaporates, because like the Room of Requirement, the taco has this magical ability to become whatever it is I need most. A light lunch? One taco, maybe two, and probably a Coke, since I so little self-control. If I’m starving, though, it’s easy enough to scale up: add another taco or two, some chips, some guac—still an appropriate portion, still a reasonable price, still a meal I’m not ashamed to order.

Plus, even your lamest taquerias offer a handful of options for proteins, garnishes, and salsas, so it doesn’t exactly matter what sort of thing I end up wanting. Chunks of steak? Slow-cooked pork? Grilled shrimp? Beer batter? By the time I’m ordering, I’m generally hungry enough to make some choices—and then I get to weigh in on salsa, on crema, on guacamole. It’s all there, and it’s all being offered to me, and if I’d rather not decide, I don’t even have to. Tacos are small, after all. Why not get one of each? (And yes, I do realize that this theory I’ve just spent 300 words explaining is nothing more than a system I’ve crafted to enable my own indecisiveness. Leave me alone.)

A grilled-chicken taco from Dorado Tacos

That said, the taquerias I’ve found within a mile or so of NYU just aren’t doing it for me. There’s Taqueria Diana, home of some tacos that are so lame, so boring that they actually threaten to put me to sleep. And then there’s Otto’s, whose wet and drippy one-note tacos I think I might’ve outgrown. Los Tacos and Los Mariscos continue to spoil me, but Chelsea Market’s just too far away to make my lunchtime list. And Chipotle‘s an option, I suppose, but even pre-shark-jump, their tacos were hardly passable as such.

For the most part, then, I’ve gone without. Which means I’ve had to make a hell of a lot of decisions.

All this to say that I was excited to find Dorado, a Baja-style taqueria—with no nuts in the kitchen!—that’s only a few blocks from NYU. To tell you the truth, though, my initial hopes weren’t all that high. Those Chelsea Market tacos really have cursed me, and because of them, I’m stuck with this ridiculously high standard that keeps me from enjoying myself at most other taquerias. I like Los Tacos, and I like Los Mariscos, and I like Taco Mix, up on 116th Street. That’s about it—and most days, that’s plenty. But I desperately wanted more lunch tacos. Travel-free tacos. So even with my hopes low, I was eager to give Dorado a try.

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I don’t regret it. Dorado’s nowhere near as good as any of those taquerias I just mentioned, but it’s not terrible, either, and it’ll certainly do the trick when school resumes and I resume salivating at my midday taco bell. They offer eight sorts of tacos, seven sorts of quesadillas, and a number of salads, soups, and sides, too. And if that’s not enough variation for you—because it isn’t always enough for me—there are usually a few daily specials, too.

Anyway. I don’t love the grilled-steak taco (pictured at the top of this post), nor am I the biggest fan of the grilled-chicken taco (second above), but I’ll eat the latter, at least. Both are topped with queso fresco (which I like) and guacamole (which I love), but both are made with an underwhelming, heatless habanero salsa that doesn’t appear to serve any purpose beyond making me acutely aware of just how important a decent salsa really is. The steak’s too dry, too flavorless, too boring. But the chicken’s moist, juicy, and tender, and it has a nice, smoky flavor to it, too.

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On the other hand, I do actively dislike the Baja original. Made with beer-battered whitefish, cabbage, crema, pickled onions, and Dorado’s own salsa fresca, it’s incredibly similar to the fish tacos at Los Mariscos. I have no gripes with that similarity—that’s what a Baja-style fish taco is, after all—but given what I know a Los Mariscos fish taco tastes like, I just can’t get on board with Dorado’s version. In every way, it’s just slightly worse: the batter’s soggier, heavier; the fish itself is less flavorful; the cabbage doesn’t make as much of a textural contribution; the salsa keeps to itself, hangs in the corner. As a whole, the taco is disjointed—and it’s heavy, and it’s unsatisfying, and I refuse to eat it. Same goes for the shrimp taco. But perhaps I’d feel differently if I’d never eaten at Los Mariscos.

What do I like, then? Of the tacos, only two: the grilled fish (third above), and the salmon (immediately above). Both the mahi-mahi and the salmon have just the right amount of fishy flavor to them, and both are rather creamy, too (which is a must-have quality of grilled fish, if you ask me). But on the whole, these tacos are average, at best. They, too, come off as disjointed pile-highs (piles-high?) of components, rather than as cohesive, unified, respectable wholes—but their fish bases makes them rewarding enough, I think. Some days.

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I really ought to mention, though, that I absolutely adore Dorado’s chips. They’re unusually hearty (read: thick, but also hearty), and they come dusted with the perfect amount of salt, which is surprisingly rare in the world of homemade chips. Truthfully, they’re the highlight of each and every one of my Dorado meals. The elote’s missing something—I think that something is halfway decent corn—and the rice and beans are rather ho-hum, as far as I’m concerned, but those chips, man. Good on their own, and good dipped in both the guacamole and the particularly onion-heavy salsa fresca they’re served with, those chips are one worthwhile side.

So. It’s not as if Dorado will ever become one of my favorite restaurants. The tacos are just too mediocre—and in the time I’ve spent on this post, I’ve decided that their mediocrity has nothing to do with that high standard for tacos that I mentioned above. Dorado’s food is mediocre because it’s mediocre, plain and simple. My standards and I have only one role in that mediocrity: we took notice. And so the search continues. Though I’ll probably continue to frequent Dorado in the meantime.

Find it at 28 East 12th Street, between University and 5th.

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