Let me frank.
I love food. I adore it so much that my heart yearns for amaretto pralines; my fingers need the tlc of a slice of bbq ribs.
However, every once in a while, a food comes along that makes me dawn a giant “WTF” symbol over my forehead.
One such food was introduced to me almost immediately was chicken fried steak
What exactly was this long piece of meat like substance that was covered in flour and appeared to have been drenched in hydrochloric acid ala a deep fryer from hell?
Upon further inspection, it becomes evident that this piece of meat that has been known to encompass two separate plates has no chicken origins at all.
In fact, this poultry imposter has its roots in a tenderized piece of cube steak that has been seasoned with flour and pan fried until it reaches the 5th dimension of comfort food.
What I want to know is, how the hell and why they hell was this dish created?
Did someone sit down and decide that fried chicken wasn’t decadent enough? The idea of dawn butter and a fat chicken thigh was inferior to the lavish notion of pounding out a piece of steak and dumping a pound of gravy on it in order to insure that it has been properly drowned and ready to consumption.
Don’t forget your grits and baked beans either.
Being as transparent as Boy George’s sexual preference, I love artery clogging goodness as much as the next red blooded American, but only if it tastes good.
Unfortunately, chicken fried steak tastes about as good as a deep fried raccoon that has been sitting out on the highway for a week.
Imagine, if you will, a retarded chicken finger, and you have discovered the fundamental taste of this dish.
The first time I had a taste of this dish, I was at a staple southern restaurant that was said to have the best bread pudding, corn flake incrusted chicken, and chicken fried steak in the city.
The Italian inspired pesto rubbed eggs and eggs in a basket impressed me far more than the travesty that was the chicken fried steak. I felt as if I had just been on the receiving end of a road kill roast off in my mouth.
Since I am a man of diplomacy, I am ready and willing to adore more punishment in the future and try another chicken fried steak that is supposedly awesome beyond all rational comprehension, but for now, I stand by the notion that chicken fried steak should not exist and likely should be taken out back and shot with the rest of the rejected transient dishes of the world.
Prepping the shotgun