FollowDid you notice how the title of this post was straight to the point? I didn’t beat around the bush, trying to make some fowl-related pun (the day I say “don’t be chicken” in a punny context is the day I surrender my pun license), nor did I try to make it overly-sophisticated or haughty. Neither does Poulet. As the name would imply, Poulet specializes in one thing — chicken — and they do it damn well. Now, if you know me, you know that I’m not a sweets guy. Even before I got into fitness, I never liked the stuff — Halloween was more about the outfits for me. Everyone has that one food-related weakness. For most (normal) people, those are brownies, cookies, cupcakes, or a certain type of candy. For me, it’s roasted chicken. So, you can imagine that a place called Poulet might catch my eye during a nice walk up Shattuck through Berkeley’s Gourmet Ghetto or maybe, uh, a Yelp search for ‘roast chicken’ near Berkeley.
Now, I’ve had roasted chicken at a ton of different places locally. I grew up here. You name a city in the Bay Area, and I’ll tell you where the best roasted chicken spot is. Oakland? Hit up Roti Roti (though you’ll have to find them at an event). San Francisco? Try Espetus (and try their bacon-wrapped filet while you’re at it). Albany? Try Zaki Kabob House. Walnut Creek? Well, that’s a toss-up between Sunrise Bistro and Hick’ry Pit, though the latter’s portions are a bit better (I like to order a whole chicken). Concord? You’re an asshole for asking because my favorite chicken place of all time, Wild Chicken Rotisserie, closed its doors for good while I was stuck here in Berkeley.
I’m no purist. Unless you marinate it in ricin, there is little that you can do to screw up my favorite dish. There are some days where I’m hungry so I’ll just go to Safeway to get one of their roasted chickens. Hell, my face even lights up a little when I see it in the dining hall — and trust me, I’m known as the kid who goes back for fourths at Crossroads. Still, there is no denying that some roasted chicken is simply better than others. I was excited to see what Poulet had to offer.
“A whole chicken? Like on a plate?” asked the rather confused Poulet employee as I ordered a dish ‘for here’ that was intended to be carried out for a family of four by a mother or father on his or her way home from work. “Yes,” I replied, having been through this same song and dance (the chicken dance?) all too many times. Any hint of frustration in my voice was from the unnecessary delay in the plating and consequential consumption of this chicken. I had chosen the marinated lemon with garlic and rosemary. The teriyaki looked enticing, but I wanted to see what they could do without a thick flavoring — I always preferred subtle spices. I had obtained what I wanted most: an entire roasted chicken. I had sat down, put my napkin on my lap, and it was time to dig in.
Pretty delicious. The skin was nice and crispy, the meat was juicy, and the chicken was of a good size. For 12 dollars, it provided a lot more to work with than one of Safeway’s birds. And, though I was more focused on the chicken-y goodness, the lemon and garlic shined through very well. So well, in fact, that I found myself there again 2 days later with a different group of people, pretending I hadn’t been there less than 48 hours ago. And the employees didn’t say a word.
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