Chef Jeffrey Cerciello is from that famous restaurant in Cali wine country. You know, this one. While Bouchon has basically added fried chicken Monday nights, Bouchon Beverly Hills is just a freaking uninterested/corporate/RHWOBH kind of place that everyone, save for the TK groupies, seems to avoid at every turn.
Witness then, an alternative to that fried chicken: Farmshop Sunday Suppers. The fried chicken dinner offered during sunday suppers start at $40, $8 more than Bouchon, but consider that as the added cost of fried chicken grubbing in Brenthood. Alas, there’s free valet, and you don’t have to play I-spy-Don-Johnson in Beverly Hills anymore. That’s gotta be worth a few dollars?
Disclosure: This dude never dined at Ad Hoc. I have, however, walked in and walked out; the menu on that particular night was a total snooze. But every foodiot blogger considers him/herself some kinda fried chicken expert, so here we go:
While the PR wires may want you to “think” Farmshop’s fried chicken is merely “inspired” by Ad Hoc fried chicken, one’d be rather obtuse to actually believe this isn’t that same chicken, dissected and brined to suit LA’s palate, whatever that may be.
Not everyone can chase fanciful fried chicken dinners around town, so understand Farmshop’s high ticket fried chicken is the Gucci/Pucci fried chicken. It has cache, it’s sassy, it shouts: I wear Brian Atwood to family meals. At least one fashionista was spotted amongst the crowd. So does this chicken taste as pretty and haute as it appears?
Yah, kinda. It’s kinda good. Kinda really freaking good. With fried thyme and rosemary accoutrements kinda good. If one can afford to roll into Brentwood Country Mart valet parking in a Ferrari 360 spider , one should definitely come on Sundays, and often. The highly aromatic skin is crisp, but not teeth rattling crunchy. The flesh is juicy, like a Thai virgin who just stepped out of the monsoon, but what oozes is meaty wetness, not grease (also like a Thai virgin?) The chef unapologetically wants you to understand the chicken is marinaded (brining is such a catch word) and spiced. 5 minutes and 1 drumstick in the whole table already wears shit-eating grins. A course precedes the poultry, another follows. Both are simply not your every day collards and corn bread.
Is this the best fried chicken in LA? Don’t ask, it’s uncouth. Eat it, admire the hotness (hello sexy hostess, helloooo sexy lemon bar) that exudes from every beam, every decorative lighting rope, and simply know: here, (J)effrey (C)erciello, JC for short, stands for Jesus Christ, of fried chicken.
Also, Farmshop was waiting for their beer & wine license for eternity. The neon green thing below is a soju cocktail. Stop rolling your eyes. It’s cucumber with a buncha greens and taste like something from Jamba Juice. Someone get the recipe for this stat:
[[ Dinner Courtesy of Farmshop ]]
** Dedicated to K.N. May the OC fill your stomach with a lake of nuoc mam and plenty of bun cha.
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