French Fried Chicken at L’Avant Comptoir

When I made a comment on Facebook and Twitter Saturday night that I’d just eaten the best fried chicken in Paris – word spread like a house on fire. Not because I was eating ag-ain, but because there is fried chicken, in Paris?

During an eating marathon with Fashion Week press, I had to rub my eyes to make sure I was reading the sign correctly…but there it was in black and white, poulet frit.

It is a big deal. Aside from KFC, fried chicken isn’t on any menu that I know of and it’s a long 5,000 mile flight home to Frank Stitt’s in Birmingham Alabama to feed a craving.

The next morning, I woke up thinking about that poulet frit. It was Sunday, nothing in the fridge and markets closed? I couldn’t get dressed and on the metro fast enough – praying at each stop that the poulet frit was still on the always changing menu and that I could get there before the crowds did. (Apologies to the poor folks I knocked off the sidewalk.)

Blowing in like a tornado, I ordered a glass of Champagne and TWO poulet frits before I even took my coat off, stopped at the end of the bar, pushed my sleeves up… then said bonjour. Quelle manners.

Standing at the altar bar in Yves Camdeborde’s L’Avant Comptoir brought back a flood of memories of sitting with family in the church of my great-grandmother’s kitchen on Sunday.

As a kid, when the massive platters of fried chicken were set on the table it was a race against your siblings to lick your finger and “tag” the piece you wanted.

Now, as an adult, I can rejoice, sing hallelujah, dance in the aisle and shout Amen over Yves’ tasting portions at the L’Avant Comptoir hors d’oeuvre-wine bar.

Tokyo-born “Dai” is the chicken master in charge – soaking wings and fat legs in egg and then rolling them in a salt, pepper and panko mixture before searing it in more salt & olive oil with a few drops of water.

Bless his heart, when he put the platter down, he jerked his hand back like he was hand-feeding a piranha.

Let me tell ya’ll, I put the hurt on that chicken like nobody’s business; disgusting behavior to the Parisians on my left, so I waited for them to leave before ordering two more.

The crispy crunch is just fantastic – finger licking good and not at all greasy. Spicy curry sauces come with it, although totally unnecessary. A small bowl of thick puréed potatoes is delicious too. Dai and Yves, great-grandmother would be proud.

Just when I thought I would burst, Dai tells me with a wink that there are only 4 pieces left. As one does…I took a breath and circled my finger in the air lasso-style to bring it on. This ain’t my first rodeo.

Yves came in from the bistro next door, pleased but confused, “Wendy, I heard you are eating all my chicken!?”

I wish that were an exaggeration but it isn’t. There is seriously none left and they aren’t making any more until Friday.

No worries, there should be plenty for you then – Sunday is my day to go to church. Amen.

UPDATE: Since I wrote this post last summer, the spicy sauce and puréed potatoes have been replaced with a house made tangy tartar sauce and thick-cut steak fries. The Parisians have since fallen for them too. I get pleasure out of seeing them eating with their hands and gnawing on legs and wings – a great feat since the French don’t like to eat without silverware nor bare their teeth when eating. Years ago, when I first served corn on the cob at a dinner party for French friends, I stopped mid nibble to see their faces frozen like a deer in headlights.

Le Comptoir du Relais, 9 carrefour de l’Odéon, M° Odeon. Open every day.

Tags: champagne, fried chicken poulet frit, l'avant comptoir, yves camdeborde