Making the Least of a Tempting Situation
By the time my brother and sister-in-law, visiting from Saskatchewan, had seen a bit of Chattanooga, Tennessee, they wanted some real Southern cooking: in particular, fried chicken. So I took them to Champy’s, part of a small chain (see the visual menu here), the sort of roadhouse-flavored place where one customer at the bar was wearing a shirt that read “The Liver Is Evil and Must Be Destroyed.”
Between the buttermilk fried pickle spears, the fried green tomatoes, the fried chicken livers, and pretty much every other part of the chicken, also fried (including a single fried chicken leg on a piece of white bread, a “snack”), this was going to be tough sledding for Mr. Portion
Control. Don’t get me wrong. Good fried chicken is one of the World’s Great Treats, and Champy’s is good. (You can also find the real deal, oddly, at the Publix supermarket in Birmingham.) But I just wasn’t up for a crispy-battered, salt-bomb chicken breast the size of my head.
So I ordered the Buffalo Fried Chicken Salad, which turned out to be three tangy “tenders” on a well-put-together salad with dressing on the side. I ate one tender, left two, enjoyed the salad—and estimated the calories at about 400. One large fried breast at Publix is, MyFitnessPal says, 510 calories.