It’s a balmy September night in London and my flight had just arrived from Berlin. All accounts so far had warned me to rug up as if the ice age was coming, yet there I sat in a T-shirt - comfortable, but hungry. Of course smart phones choose our meals these days and rather than wander around possibly ending up with a less than savoury meal, I flicked through the Four Square app. I came across a seemingly decent restaurant with an 8.9 rating that was only 0.2 miles away. The decision was made and I scampered off to the ‘Chicken Shop’. 
The words ‘Chicken Shop’ back home in Australia instil strong imagery of a small family-run store with delicious rotisserie chicken, but in a dirty eyesore of a shop. Typically there would be cold metal furniture, greasy tiled floors and a flickering blue insect light at the back that would intermittently buzz as it take out the bugs that didn't end up in the food. It’s quick and easy, not pretty, but it sure as hell is tasty. This is exactly what I expected to find when I arrived at the Kentish Town location.

At first I couldn't find the entrance. I was hopelessly searching for an oversized fluorescent-lit window with a friendly-looking international store clerk behind a chrome counter top. Instead, I finally noticed a doorway with a minimalistic sign above, displaying the words, ‘Chicken Shop’.

I began to hear the sounds of soulful music playing as I made my way down the polished wooden staircase that levelled out onto a dimly-lit restaurant floor with designer furniture, candles, stylish decor and a well-stocked bar. It was certainly not the image I’d had on the way over. The waiter greeted me with a warm smile and explained that the menu sits on the wall at the back, much like the chicken shops back home. The concept made sense. They’d taken the classic idea of a family-run fast-food shop, but added the flair of fine dining. The place exudes class, yet it doesn’t lose its friendly local chicken shop feel. 

I excitedly sent off my order of half a chicken and watched the chefs chopping up 24-hour marinated, steamed and rotisserie roasted birds in the open kitchen. The chicken arrived ready to go in a takeaway polystyrene box. 

I eagerly made my way back upstairs to find a nice spot by a canal or in a park to gorge on the tasty goodness. The smell wafting from my carry bag overtook me and I set up on a curb like there was no tomorrow. The box flew open in holy grail fashion to expose the most delicious looking golden brown, juicy chicken you could hope to see from here to Timbuktu. During the meal I paused only for a second to mourn the loss of a piece that I had dropped during my trance-like eating state. I didn’t want the delicious food to go to waste and offered it to a passing puppy. The owner yanked her dog away in disgust. If only that pooch had known what he was missing out on.

I finished up and licked the house-made hot sauce clean off my fingers. Finger-licking good you say? Most definitely!

However, the corn was perfectly cooked with charred blackened bits giving it plenty of flavour.