366 Metropolitian Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11211
1/12/2011
Some people are breast men. Others ass men. I'm a thigh guy.
Obviously, I'm talking about fried chicken.
The Commodore specializes in an extra crispy version where the the skin almost looks like it is jumping from the meat that it is attached. The crispy, crusty skin had the texture of chicharrones when they come straight out of the fryer: light, airy, crackly, but without any heavy greasiness.
The thighs didn't have the same juicy, meaty quality as Pies n' Thighs or Charles' Country Pan Fried Chicken (try saying that five times fast), but the lack of flava of the meat was more than rectified by a triumvirate of tasty sauces. The ketchup-tabasco remoulade had a nice sweet and spicy pungency; the tabasco sauce kicked it up a notch; and the sweet, creamy honey butter beckoned to be slathered over everything on my plate.
The Harpoon IPA proved to be a surprisingly excellent pairing with the fried chicken, as its dry hoppiness served a dual role of muting the spiciness of the ketchup-tabasco remoulade and cleansing the palate for more thigh action. I ordered another beer, the Williamsbrew, because I felt like being cheap and ironic.
Conclusion: Hipster chicken is finger lickin'.
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