San Francisco Chronicle - (Sunday)
A recipe for fried chicken like no other.
Shatteringly crispy, pungent and packed with umami
During my own personal pandemic food journey I cooked a lot, but when I did order out, I did so with intention. I was either checking out a chef friend’s popup, trying to support a business I really cared about, or — more often — going for the greatest hits. For me that meant the most succulent carnitas at a certain taqueria in the Mission District (El Castillo); those shrimp cakes at “my” Vietnamese spot (Bac Lieu, also in the Mission), which had the crispiest shell and a chewy, mochilike center; or pizza, literally pizza from anywhere that I thought would be good (Flour+Water and Square Pie Guys, both in San Francisco; and Triple Beam in Los Angeles).
Now restaurants are opening back up so there are options again. I love an option — don’t get me wrong — but I extremely dislike the fear of missing out because of hardtoget restaurant reservations, schedule conflicts, a wait list or a line I eventually can’t deal with anymore. So I’m finding myself looking back at those last months of lockdown and my obsession with a certain Thaistyle fried chicken sandwich with green papaya slaw. The chicken was garlicky, peppery and had a crispy yet light batter. The slaw was crunchy, fresh, spicy and sweet (Night + Market in Los Angeles).
I’d order it when I didn’t feel like cooking for the trillionth time. I’d order it when I just couldn’t navigate an everchanging (and depressing) restaurant landscape of who’s open, who’s closed or “did I really just miss my friend’s popup by 30 minutes?” I’d order it on rare evenings alone. Most of all, I’d order it simply because it was a brilliant, delicious sandwich.
This week’s recipe is an homage to that fried chicken; the one that got me through the (hopefully) dregs of the pandemic.
As with my obsessively ordered sandwich, the chicken here is marinated or “brined” first. I use chicken thighs because they have the most flavor, tend not to dry out, and they have natural nooks and crannies that the marinade can wedge itself into. I also score the chicken so it cooks faster, but also so the marinade has more areas to flavor.
My marinade consists of just five ingredients: finely chopped anchovy, garlic, ground chile flakes, black pepper and salt.
Why anchovy? Good question. Anchovy isn’t part of the brine for the sandwich, but fish sauce is in the papaya slaw. Anchovy, like fish sauce, gives umami and a little saltiness. It’s just that little something that makes me crave and want more bites. It’s not enough to make the chicken taste fishy. I should tell you, though, that I’m not the kind of person to ever order a Caesar salad dressing without anchovy. If it’s not your thing, feel free to omit.
Once I’m done marinating the chicken, it gets mixed into the batter so the bits of the marinade become one with the batter, effectively making the marinade not just a marinade for the chicken but also for the batter itself. It’s a quartet of flavors that’s peppery, a touch spicy and definitely garlicky, with umami throughout.
The batter alone without the bits of marinade mixed in is crispy, light and I’d even say tempuraadjacent. However, the raw batter will probably make you question that. It has a really high moisture content that makes it look like somewhere between a runny yogurt, a thicker buttermilk and looser pancake batter. Don’t worry, once the battered chicken hits the hot fry oil, it will puff a bit and cook into a crispy golden chicken cloud.
What actually makes it light is a mixture of rice flour, baking powder and sparkling water. The rice flour helps with the crunch. The baking powder and sparkling water add a lot of lift that you’ll notice immediately as the chicken hits the hot oil. There’s also allpurpose flour that rounds out the texture and binds everything together.
The other part of this dish is the cucumber basil salad, which is a bright, acidic counter to the fried chicken. Now, again, my sandwich muse served green papaya slaw. However, since green papaya is unfortunately not widely available, I find cucumbers to be just as capable of making a great slaw. Finding the right cucumber is key and it’s also important how you cut it. I’ve found Persian cucumbers work best. They are usually uniformly shaped, and even when they’re not — like if you buy them at the farmers’ market — it’ll still be OK. If you have a mandolin with a julienne attachment, or amazing knife skills, you can cut the cucumbers into perfect long pieces. I find it unnecessary, so I just cut them into long thin wedges or spears.
I then marinate those cucumber wedges simply with lemon, olive oil, a little sugar, jalapeño, tomatoes and basil (later on), and they honestly give green papaya a run for its money.
The effect of all this is a dish that feels indulgent, yet fresh and totally doable at home. If you have a fear of frying, I hear you. But all you need is a big pot with high sides, an instantread thermometer like you’d use to check the temperature of a steak, and oil, of course. No need to order out tonight.