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| - For years I've heard of a magic land of chicken,where rivers of spicy sauce cascade over golden potato hills and valleys of fluffy rice.
Sadly, I had thought this poultry El Dorado to be forever forbidden; it's a tiny joint with no seating and, so I believed, no delivery option to sate the hunger of the car-free.
Thanks to a few well-positioned reviews on this very site I learned that Churrasco of St Clair does in fact deliver to my 'hood, and my days of soggy, flabby Swiss Chalet are behind me.
So let's open up the takeout containers, shall we?
We are two. We order dinner for four, for we are hungry and the star of the show is all lean protein and veg. The dinner comes with a large soup (good broth, tonnes short round pasta, and soft meat torn from the bone), salad (a bright garden salad that's faultless except for refrigerated, mealy winter tomato), rice and roast potatoes, portuguese buns and of course the bird itself. Three thimbles of peri-peri sauce accompany the lot. We anticipate leftovers.
There are just some culinary truths that no matter how hard you try, you cannot avoid. One such truth is that crisply roasted chicken skin just doesn't travel well. It's well-seasoned and patches retain that delicious flaky-sticky saltiness, but much of the bird's dermis has gone limp and slack as it steams waiting to be eaten.
The bird arrives cut into eight. It's a bit smaller than expected, and apparently very top-heavy. White meat and thighs are generously portioned, but drumsticks are tiny. I didn't know Dolly Parton raised chickens. The meat itself is tender and delicious. It has cooled since arrival, as we worked through our soups and salad. Piping hot, it would be crazy addictive. The sauce provides full-throated heat and smoky depth. I save the unused portions (my dining companion is spice-averse) and it paints every meal for the next day or two.
Of the three forms of starch, the little roast potatoes are the best of the lot. I gravitate towards the most-cooked; golden and unctuous, they're a great foil for the chicken and a perfect contrast to the salad. The rice is pleasant but undermined by overcooked, superannuated peas. The bread finds new life in a Portuguese version of an egg mcmuffin the next morning. Fried egg, more peri peri sauce, bliss.
Churrasco of St. Clair has long been on my local resto bucket list. I can cross it off, though I'll be keeping the delivery number on my refrigerator.
P
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