Chicharron (Fried Chicken Skin Chips)

Chicharron (in English, "Pork Rinds") is a snack food typically served in Latin American and Philippine cuisines, usually consisting of large chunks of cured pork skin that are deep fried and puffed into curls. Less common varieties of chicharron are those made from other animals, chicken being the most popular of the other varieties (Some Filipinos have even been known to make snail chicharron!).

I happened upon a Filipino restaurant in the East Village called Elvie's Turo Turo, which offers traditional Filipino fare, and of course, chicharron, but only made from chicken. Unlike their pork counterparts, however, they do not contain the chunks of attached fatty meat that line the underside of pork skin. As a result, chicken chicharron pieces are usually much smaller and lighter.

An order of chicharron at Elvie's consisted of a little over a dozen pieces ($4.00). Upon visual inspection, it was obvious that these were generously salted, which is how chicharron is supposed to be prepared. The pieces were curled, each with its own unique shape, a natural by-product of the deep-frying process. Some Filipinos prefer to eat their chicharron by dipping it in vinegar, patis (a salty dark sauce made from fish extract), or a combination of both before biting into it. I opted to sample this dish both naked and with a vinegar-patis sauce.

Upon first bite, I was immediately greeted with the familiar snap that I had expected--this was perhaps due especially to the use of cornstarch to coat the skin before cooking (though I did not confirm that the restaurant used cornstarch in their recipe). The constant crunch during chewing confirmed that the pieces were fried for exactly the right amount of time necessary to maintain consistent texture.

While salt in the flavoring was expected, it did not overpower the natural taste of the chicken--the distinct taste of chicken skin came through very clearly. If I had to describe the flavor experience to someone who's never had any kind of chicharron, I would say that it is akin to what you would expect if you just ripped the skins off of deep-fried chicken (the Man Show brought to life the fantasy that many men had of being able to enjoy a bucket that was filled only with fried chicken skin).

After having about half the pieces naked, I decided to have them in the vinegar-patis combination (one that I had concocted myself, based upon years of experience growing up in a Filipino household). You can either lightly dip the chips in the sauce or soak the pieces for 10-15 seconds, depending on what sensations you are looking for. Lightly dipped, the sauce counteracts the salty taste of the chips with the vinegar's sour flavor while maintaining the same snap and crunch that they have when served naked, and may be the option for most. When soaked, the sauce actually complements the chips very nicely, as it seems to actually bring out the juices within the skin, and surprisingly, the chips do not become soggy when soaked, though they are not quite as crispy as when naked or lightly dipped. I prefer mine soaked (though I will say that this is perhaps more of an acquired taste than anything else).

I highly recommend this dish to anyone who has ever dreamed of being able to walk into a fried chicken establishment and order just the skins as a dish. The dozen or so pieces would be enough for most as a stand-alone meal, though, as with many of the other foods we've reviewed, I do not recommend this course of action (share instead), as it will induce food coma in most subjects.

Click here for Elvie's full menu.

Launch Party

Our Launch Party was a rousing success. Here are a few pics of your hosts and their guests (more to follow later)...

Poutine and Belgian Fries For Dinner

Preethi and I are heading to one of our favorite french fry places tonight, Pommes Frites, for a hearty meal of potatoes, cheese, gravy, and mayonnaise. Preethi will be bringing her five years of experience in Quebecois culture and dining to the table, so she knows exactly what to expect out of her poutine. It promises to be a truly gluttonous evening, one which will surely result in prolonged hibernation for both of us afterwards, considering how cold and snowy it is in New York and how ingesting excess amounts of grease from double-fried potatoes results is enough to cause a food coma.

We'll write all about it when we awake from said hibernation.

Czech Fried Cheese

Over Thanksgiving, I had the pleasure of visiting the beautiful city of Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic. As part of the cultural immersion process, my friends and I subsisted on a diet of Czech food and Czech beer. What we discovered in the process was that Czechs and Americans have quite a bit in common, in particular, a love of deep-fried foods.

The Czech Smazný sýr (pronounced sma-zhe-nee see'r), which literally translates as "Fried Cheese", is one such dish. Usually served either alone as an appetizer with tartar sauce, or on a roll with mayonnaise as a sandwich, Czech Fried Cheese consists of a thick slab of an Edam-like cheese, which is breaded and deep fried, ideally giving it a crusty shell and somewhat stretchy interior.

I purchased mine from a lunch cart situated in Old Town Square, one of the most heavily-touristed areas of town, but the fact that there were many Czechs waiting in line at this cart led me to believe that for all intents and purposes, it was being served the way native Czechs like it. As advertisted, the fried cheese was served on a sesame seed roll and topped with mayonnaise, though the mayonnaise was not a variety an American would have recognized, as it was a lot less viscous than American varieties and was interspersed with bits of dill.

As I took my first bite, I could feel my arteries quiver in fear as the 100% lipid combination of cheese, mayo, and fryer cooking oil tickled my taste buds in a sensation that could only be characterized as one of pure ecstasy, akin to what one would have felt after their "first time" (at least if you were male, or if you were the girl who was with me). The consistency of the breaded exterior on my palate reminded me of a McDonald's Filet-O-Fish--the individual bread crumbs were discernible to the taste, yet maintained a uniform crispness through the bite. The cheese itself, though clearly melted in the frying process, maintained a respectable firmess through several bites, but as I worked my way through the center of the filet, the sandwich lost all of its cohesiveness, and finishing the rest of the sandwich became quite a messy affair, as mayo and cheese was spilling out of all sides and onto my hands and the +1,000-year-old cobblestone street below. However, that did not take away from the fact that this sandwich was absolutely delicious. The dill mayo complimented the cheese very nicely, giving the sandwich a slightly sour but pleasant lemon-like citrus finish.

I was extremely pleased with this sandwich, so much so that I felt compelled to order another one immediately after, my lactose intolerance be damned. So, for the equivalent of $1.40 USD (35 Czech Crowns), I couldn't help myself, and immediately got to work polishing off a second fried cheese sandwich in one sitting. If you ever find yourself in Prague, the Fried Cheese is something you simply should not miss.