Photo by Lisa HartShe towers over Lincoln Avenue like a feathered Liberty enlightening the hungry: a three-foot Plexiglas chicken that's the mascot for Grandma's Chicken House in Cypress. No one knows the hen's age or who placed her upon her 60-foot-high roost—the current owners never bothered to find out when they purchased the restaurant a couple of years ago; patrons at the next-door White Rooster Pub were too inebriated to answer the question one recent Saturday night.
Murky origins notwithstanding, the hen preens proud and tall, a beacon to broasted-chicken fans countywide.
The statue strikes a heroic strut with good reason: Grandma's is the county's place to worship the gnarled splendor of broasted chicken, the criminally underappreciated cooking style that dominates the Red States and is better than any other fried meal you'll ever taste. Grandma's prepares its birds just like they do it in Iowa, by patting down wings, breasts, thighs—even gizzards—with piquant seasonings and batter, then tossing the pieces inside one of many steel pressure cookers. A volley of pops heard around the tiny dining area announces their rising temperature. It sounds like some of Santa Ana's rougher neighborhoods come nightfall.
They emerge, sizzling, five minutes later and probably aren't doctor-recommended, but worrying about health when eating at Grandma's is like worrying about swimmer's ear while surfing Trestles. The chicken's crisp, dun skin achieves a chicharrón-level of designed greasiness—eat too quickly, and you'll get queasy. Within the oily shards, though, is chicken the way God cooks it in heaven: so moist, so succulent that the juices and steam pouring out when you bite down will scald you. Similarly impressive is the side of broasted potatoes—slabs of the tuber as big and thick as a $10 roll of quarters.
Besides the chicken and potatoes, there's little at Grandma's Chicken House—four booths, not counting the rusted circular bench riddled with graffiti outside. A Ms. Pac-man arcade game faded almost beyond recognition idles near the entrance. Customers treat Grandma's with the same ungrateful ignorance most Americans reserve for a beloved relative exiled to a senior home: they phone in orders by the boxful but scurry out after pickup. Be a nice nephew or niece and respect your elders: dine in.
Grandma's Chicken House, 6072 Lincoln Ave., Cypress, (714) 527-3162.
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