We always discuss films and books and television.  There’s the occasional politicking.  Oh, and let’s not forget drinking – as in drinking games for watching political theater or your favorite cult film/TV show.  So why the heck not put The Spin on one of my all-time favorite things? 

FRIED CHICKEN. 

I’ve been in love with it ever since that day when I was about ten years-old and I tasted the home-cooked fried chicken of Mrs. Cottingham in Willingboro, NJ. 

On reruns of Seinfeld I’m often reminded by Newman that “Kenny Rogers makes a pretty mean bird,” but roasting is for suckers.  My heart and cholesterol belong to fowl of the fried persuasion.

I covet it like Daniel Plainview covets oil. 

So ladies and gentlemen…if I say I’m a fried chicken man you will agree.

And I am a man on a mission – in search of the world’s greatest fried chicken.

A few years ago, I thought I may have found it.  It appeared on my plate in the most unlikely of places – Fornelletto – a fine dining establishment at the Borgata in Atlantic City that specializes in Southern Italian cuisine.  There I took a chance on their Tuscan Fried Chicken – and the drool-inducing blend of Italian-meets-KFC-spicing infused into a bird perfectly breaded and fried made me feel as if I had died and gone to heaven.  I assumed my life-long search was finally over.

But wait…the breading and the oil thickens.  Just recently I found myself wandering the streets of Philadelphia bar-hopping with a friend on a chillaxed Sunday afternoon and while strolling through that magical land of bricks, cobblestones and hipsters between Society Hill and South Street, we stumbled across (and into) The Twisted Tail.  Apart from weekly blues jam sessions on the second floor (and live music just about every night) – this Bourbon House and Juke Joint boasts a menu full of Southern Fried Goodness.  I, of course – after almost fainting over the most heavenly hushpuppies – ordered the chicken and biscuits.  Here they prove there is no such thing as over-seasoning fried chicken.  Was that paprika I tasted amidst the tempered onslaught of salt, pepper and Old Bay rubbed into the most delectably fried breading?  Crispy as all get-out and seasoned up to wazzoo…I thought…maybe this is it!

But alas…coming down now from that fried chicken hangover made me realize that it’s not about the holy grail…it’s about the quest.  And my quest should never end.

So I ask you my readers and fellow fine feathered friends…what’s the best fried chicken you’ve ever had?  And where did you have it? 

It matters not from where you hail…leave your dining recommendations and/or recipes in the comment form.