The land between three rivers is commonly known for its pierogi, Yinzer accent, and iconic football team. Its charm as a modest yet remarkable gem of a city truly makes Pittsburgh unlike any other city in Appalachia. The town welcomes all people with open arms and treats them to endless lovable attractions such as the Carnegie Library, the Duquesne Incline, Acrisure Stadium, and the Andy Warhol Museum, sites widely known to non-locals far and wide.
A local fascination, however, is Pittsburgh’s numerous and plentiful chicken restaurants. Spots like Cane’s, Layne’s, and CHiKN are often frequented by Pitt students, but the clucking phenomenon seems to be a singularity amongst other East Coast cities. If you weren’t already aware, I’m from White Plains, New York, where food diversity peaks thanks to its endless melting pot of cultures (Hey, Ellis Island!). Why, in my city alone, there’s a sushi place, a cantina/taqueria, too many pizzerias to count, and there even used to be a French Canadian place. And the list goes on. The only thing Pittsburgh seems to have over us is its perfection of Ukrainian food, but also, we have Veselka down in the City, and they don’t…
Irrelevant, though! This definitely isn’t a competition.
Anyways, the big one that White Plains, New York throws to the wayside is chicken places — besides KFC and Kennedy Fried Chicken, there aren’t even 10 Chick-fil-A’s conveniently located outside of touristy Manhattan. If driving out to Nassau County is your cup of tea, then be my guest and get that bag (of chicken), but for the most part, there’s nary a chicken shop north of Greenburgh.
So for a native White Plainser like me (in case you didn’t know, I’m from White Plains, New York), Pittsburgh was a bit of a culture shock.
Let’s say, though, that the reason for this is the Paris of Appalachia’s unfortunate orientation about seven hours inland. Pennsylvania’s endlessly flat terrain certainly provides ample fields for an abundance of Purdue factory farms. My only question is: Why just chicken? Does being landlocked really mean that little bird’s your only option? I sought to answer that very question with this exposé.
I started this investigation all the way back in October, just as the breezy air was beginning to nip at your nose — it made me feel proud to be from White Plains, New York, knowing I could handle the initial mountainous cold.
The first chicken spot I tackled was Raising Cane’s. It was a tepid Friday night when I stumbled into the doors of a restaurant that would soon change the course of both my life and my matured palate. My roommates had already been, so when they started ordering at a kiosk, I followed suit. “Toni F!” the lady at the front called after a few minutes, so I thanked her graciously and plopped down next to the other girls gleefully. They all began opening their boxes, dipping their chicken into Cane’s sauce, and I did the same…
And as my teeth sank into that first chicken tender, I felt a void in my soul that I didn’t previously know was empty. Something like the musical interludes of “Carrion” by Fiona Apple swelled in my mind as I fell into pure bliss…
Maybe it was the beer! Who’s to say? Either way, Cane’s is by far the best chicken place in Pittsburgh. Their meat is moist, not too heavily fried to the point of aversion, and their sauce, my god. Their sauce is perfect.
The next morning, I woke up disoriented, face covered in crumbs. Where was I? What happened last night? Why was my phone blowing up with texts from some guy regarding “Bojack Horseman,” whatever that was?
Sunlight poured into my dorm through the window by my roommate’s bed, which was empty. The time was 11 a.m.…
And on my desk lay an open styrofoam box…
A singular, half-eaten chicken finger in its compartment.
And soon enough, I’d learned to truly love the chicken.
Now, we fast forward to January. The Pittsburgh cold had fully set in at this point, and I’d exhausted my interest in attending frat parties. Before a Pitt Tonight show, my friends recommended we go to Layne’s for dinner. “Layne’s?” I said. “Don’t you mean Cane’s?”
“No,” my friend replied, shaking her blonde hair. “Layne’s.”
And so we went, ordering at different kiosks in an emptier establishment. We got our chicken in no time, and seven friends plopped their food onto a table, opening their containers with haste.
My mind was swimming. Could there possibly be a better chicken out there when Cane’s existed? I sank my teeth into a tender and soon learned the singularity that was Cane’s. This chicken was delectable, yes, but much oilier than the chicken I knew and loved. Guess I’ll always have my White Plains standards (I’m a Native White Plainser, btw). So I finished the chicken, yes. And it was decent, I will say, but nothing.
NOTHING.
Can compare to Cane’s. Keep this in mind.
Finally, we back up just a little bit to December. Ah, that chilly month. My White Plains, New York, blood still kept me warm through finals week. As I stressed over Astronomy and Film terms, a different friend of mine was raving about The Roost. And so, during a study break, I took the trip to Cathy’s basement (expecting chicken worthy of my seasoned palate). Deciding on the spicy chicken tenders, I used a meal swap and camped out at a table with my meal, ready to munch on this new poultry experience, except…
The chicken was appallingly dry — the spices… so confused?? And the sauce, oh god, the sauce! There was barely enough to mask the offensive taste! I couldn’t do it…
I couldn’t finish The Roost’s chicken. I would never do that to myself, never destroy my carefully curated palate.
In conclusion, maybe Pittsburgh has other options for signature dishes, but there is something oddly distinct about chicken. Maybe it’s my New York roots that urge me to find meaning in everything, but I digress. I am a simple, native White-Plains-New-Yorker, after all. I understand that not all cities in America can be as cool as White Plains, so Pittsburgh gets somewhat of a pass. Cane’s is the only chicken worthy of White Plains, NY, cuisine level status. Clearly, no other chicken shop has caught a whiff of fresh, deli air or spent a sizable amount of time around an Italian American grandmother. I rest my case!
Author’s Note:
Look, though. Obviously, it’s a “regional cuisine” that I hadn’t tried before, so of course I was skeptical. The thing is, Johnny’s Pizza and Venchi Gelato will still be better than anything not located on a coast. My palate hasn’t changed. I was raised on quality roasted chicken, I just… I’ve never had fried chicken like this before. White Plains, New York, is still on top, but WHAT IS IN CANES CHICKEN DID I JUST GROW UP ON TOO MUCH ORGANIC FOOD???????? HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!!!!
Second Author’s Note:
White Plains, NY, is a landlocked city in New York State.