I never came here to L.A. Chicken when I lived in Richmond. I lived just off of Number 3 Road, yet Number 5 Road just seemed so... far away. Lazy, right?
Sometimes when I think back to those days, I have to give myself a big ol’ eyeroll.

I wasn’t planning on blogging about L.A. Chicken, but I have been a patron of this place more times in the past 12 months than I care to admit. I mentioned over a year ago that my work conferences all moved from their traditional downtown Coal Harbour locales to various major Richmond hotels.

I imagine it is for economical reasons; also Richmond is quite handy for conference attendees that must fly into the city. Oh, and the parking is cheaper. So this brings me to L.A. Chicken. I meet in Richmond several times a year. DL has insisted we pick up L.A. Chicken every time we are here. Every. Time.

Over a year span, this adds up to a lot of fried poultry. It’s not the fried chicken that I have a problem with, it’s the fact that I have to get take-away. This causes me stress.
I usually get it on my way into Richmond. (Because, you know, driving into Richmond proper, then having to double back all the way out to 5 Road is just... too far.) The time is usually in the evening; so after four hours of driving I don’t really want to sit in a chicken diner.

So y’know how at conferences they bring together the Big Wigs in your field and you spend a few days with them participating in various activities and discussions? Well often these keynote speakers and Big Wigs (where did this term originate from??) will stay in the same hotel along with us regular attendees. This contributes to why I cringe every time DL insists on picking up L.A. Chicken.
Every. Time.

10 Piece Mixed White and Dark Meat option

L.A. Chicken is tasty fried chicken. The meat is moist and juicy, and the batter is crunchy, not too thick and easy on the greasy. You must order the crispy spicy version, not the original. The spicy version isn’t really “spicy” at all, it’s just seasoned. (The prices are based on "leg and thigh" so if you want a combination of white and dark meat there is a charge.)

So y’all know the pungent aroma of fried foods, right? As you can see L.A. Chicken serves their bigger orders in large wide aluminum pans. Please imagine with me as I check into a respectable high rise hotel with this aluminum pan of hot and delectable bird parts. L.A. Chicken often fries their chicken at the time of order, so my poultry and pan are blistering hot.

After I leave the reception desk and the lobby pianist is enveloped in a cloud of Eau de Deep Fry, I have to now play the Private-Elevator-Game.
I position myself well back from the elevators and wait for all the other folks to hop in and travel up to their rooms. The goal is to wait until everyone is gone and snag an elevator with no other passengers. Once the area is clear I slip into an empty waiting elevator.

The fries are nothing to get excited about. In fact, I don’t like their fries, but I am compelled to order them every time, because the fries are the vehicle in which that gravy gets into my mouth.
That gravy! I am not usually a fast food gravy fan, but when I tasted this L.A. Chicken gravy for the first time, I wanted to fill an I.V. bag and mainline it.

It’s peppery, and salty and probably full of all sorts of enhancers, but so addicting. I absolutely do not want to know what’s in it. This is one of those occasions when ignorance truly is bliss.

Finally, alone in the elevator, I hit the “Close Door” button at least ten times in rapid succession, praying the doors will shut before someone else unknowingly gets on the Chicken Ride to the Sky. This is where awkwardness and embarrassment has found me a few times in the past 12 months.

Why aren’t the doors closing?!
Of course the person to slide in before the doors close is not a generic tourist. It has to be one of the Big-Wig-Keynote-Speakers for my conference tomorrow morning with her colleagues in tow.
I am mortified.

I am well aware that this little confined space has been hot boxed with L.A. Chicken. This vertical ride seems to take an eternity. Silence washes over this slow motion chicken rocket. Every chime to signal the next floor felt like they are 5 minutes apart. I have 14 more chimes to go before I can make an elevator escape.
Am I sweating? I think I’m sweating.

The above ridiculousness is the lil’ chicken dance I put myself through each time my rubber arm is twisted into L.A. Chicken. An encouraging fact is that I have won the Elevator Game more times than I’ve lost.

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