The Monster has traveled far and wide for finger-licking, soul-satisfying fried chicken. There was the little shack a couple hours outside of Nashville that only served fried chicken and a few homemade sides that GQ magazine recommended because the color of brown of their chicken was deemed the best brown in the world (by comparison, the best blue was a specific tailor’s bespoke suit on Saville Row). There was a ramshackle little spot in Lisbon, Portugal where the fried chicken was drenched in tangy lemon and oil that was the absolute only panacea for a wicked New Year’s Day hangover. There was Willy Mae’s Scotch House in New Orleans where it looked like the table had been served the Mount Everest of chicken the platters were so large and mighty. And there was Maurice Snack N’ Chat in Los Angeles where Maurice would do everything herself by hand (this could be a whole day adventure of waiting) and the fried chicken made grown men weep (at least this Monster).
So when The Monster heard Farmshop was starting up a Sunday fried chicken night like the revered Ad Hoc it was obvious this became a must do.