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Smoke billows from the charcoal-blanketed grill top, out the front door and across the parking lot. At the counter, they line up, and up, waiting for takeout, drawn by the irresistible, primal smell of chicken cooking over a flame.
In Northern Virginia, charcoal chicken joints dot the landscape. Richmond had none until 2005, when Chicken Fiesta opened on Midlothian Turnpike. There are now four locations, with two more on the way. Last March, Super Rico, a rotisserie chicken chain with 18 outlets, opened up shop off Forest Hill Avenue.
To the uninitiated, Chicken Fiesta and Super Rico may appear to be sides of the same coin. At both places, you will find birds that are, almost without exception, meaty, juicy and, by the standards of grocery store grab-and-go rotisserie, assertively seasoned. You will also find remarkable value: A whole bird with fries and salad can feed four for under $20. But there are essential differences between the two.
Super Rico has taken the Peruvian tradition of pollo a la brasa, once reserved for special occasions, and made it a year-round, anytime dish. It has also amped up the seasonings, which in Fernando and Miriam Sanchez’s native Peru often consist of nothing more than salt and pepper. Here, whole chickens are brined in white wine, vinegar, pepper and mild chilies, then threaded onto stainless steel spits and turned slowly, for 45 minutes over cowboy coals, lumps of hardwood that burn hotter than backyard briquettes. An extra hit of flavor comes in the aromatics — garlic, black mint and oregano — tucked under the burnished skins, visible as grass clippings on a freshly mowed lawn.
Chicken Fiesta serves what is called pollo rostizada, or “roasted chicken,” a Mexican street-food staple, and every bit the equal of pollo a la brasa when it comes to juice and savor. Here, too, the marinade is vital: beer, cumin and paico, an oregano-like herb. Owner Harold Vega refuses to divulge the rest of his rub, but it’s safe to assume that the list is at least twice as long. Chicken Fiesta uses gas grills packed with hardwood, and cooks the birds for an hour and a half at a lower temperature. The result? A delicate, but more billowing, smoke.
In my house, we have staked out clear (and very vocal) preferences: the Super Rico supporters on one side, the Chicken Fiesta devotees on the other. These are contentious times, after all. But there’s really no need to choose.
