Some of the fowl offerings at Crackbird.
I walked into Crackbird with a bit of trepidation.
It’s an immensely popular restaurant in Dublin, and they specialize in fried chicken – as well as grilled and roasted – but fried is their signature, and the name of the restaurant is a play on its apparently addictive qualities.
They want you to describe the birds they cook as being like crack. And, frankly, that’s not how I would put it.
Despite my family’s European roots, I grew up on fried chicken. It wasn’t that we ate it all that often, and it was rarely store bought (though occasionally, on days when my mother had class, or my grandparents had to be driven to doctor’s appointments, or when no one could be bothered, it was). My mom while away an afternoon dredging and battering chicken, and gingerly placing it into a cast-iron pot filled with oil.
The stove top would bubble and foam and splatter, eventually yielding gorgeous, golden-brown pieces of chicken.