Fry, fry again

CAMBRIDGE -- Tony Brooks does Southern-style fried chicken right. At Coast Cafe in Central Square, he marinates thighs, breasts, and wings in a secret spice mix for at least 12 hours. Then he fries them crispy golden in corn oil. He likes to eat the chicken without anything else. "Maybe with just a little bit of hot sauce," he says.

New England isn't fried chicken country. Around here the best fryers are more likely to focus their talents on breaded or battered seafood. But fried chicken can be as simple as cut-up pieces dredged in flour and cooked in oil, easy enough to make at home if you don't mind a little splattering around the stovetop. It's also worth seeking out at the few restaurants that know how to do it right. Brooks's style comes from his Mississippi Mom, Velmer. But Southern isn't the only way to fry a bird. Asian cooks have a way with deep-fried poultry, too. We went around town and peeked into the fry pot in several spots, to get tips and see who has good technique.

When you have a recipe as simple as fried chicken, every step must be carefully considered. The size and age of the bird matter , as well as what parts to use, whether or not to brine, the kind of coating, the depth of the pot, and the seasoning and sauce. Or is the best chicken unadorned, just plain and crisp?

First, the bird. Most cooks agree that the chicken should be small and young (supermarkets sometimes label these birds "fryers," which makes them easy to pick out). The tender breast meat can be dry and bland; drumsticks have the most flavor; thighs are somewhere in between. Cooking on the bone helps retain moisture but takes more time. Fried chicken legs are fun to pick up and nibble, but a bone-in thigh or breast is tedious for the knife and fork crowd.

Wyeth Lynch likes to begin with a brine. The chef of SoulFire in Allston soaks chicken thighs in a tangy mixture of onion, garlic, oregano, paprika, cayenne, soy sauce, vinegar, and water. "The seasoning is in the brine," he says. "It attaches to the chicken and keeps things consistent from one day to the next."

Brining, say the chefs who do it, adds flavor and moisture to a bird. But since American birds are already very moist, others consider it superfluous. Authors Edna Lewis and Scott Peacock brine their chicken for 8 to 12 hours, then soak it in buttermilk for another half day, they write in "The Gift of Southern Cooking."

Fellow Southerners Matt and Ted Lee think that a weekday batch of chicken should be different from a weekend dish. In "The Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook," the two have a plain Tuesday chicken and a brined-and-fried Sunday bird. The Tuesday meal is what they call a "pick-me-up at the end of a long bluesy workday." It takes half an hour from "let's have fried chicken" to setting it on the plate. The Sunday night recipe requires soaking. I tried both methods and the difference wasn't noticeable.

Andy Husbands of Tremont 647 soaks his chicken breasts in buttermilk, hot sauce, and salt for 24 hours. "No more, no less," he says. The Chinese version of this marinade turns out to be sugar, salt, and rice wine, which Shui Huang Han of Mu Lan Taiwanese restaurant in Cambridge uses. At Buk Kyung II in Allston, fried chicken looks like lollipops, which Hak Kim has made from trimming thighs and "frenching" the bones (scraping them) to form sticks. This super crispy Korean specialty is called ganpoongki.

You would think that any of these could be coated with flour and dropped into hot fat. That would be fine, but a mixture of cornmeal and spices along with the flour makes a crisper crust. Breadcrumbs turn crackly. The Lee brothers add smoked paprika and cayenne to flour and cornmeal.

The type of fat may or may not make a difference in the finished dish. I've heard about cooks using clarified butter, lard, even chicken fat, but canola or peanut oil does the trick. Heat it to between 325 and 350 degrees, at which temperature the breading will crisp without soaking up fat.

Every cook who makes fried chicken has perfected a way to bread and fry. At Mu Lan, Han dredges the meat in sweet-potato flour and adds fresh basil to the vegetable oil after the chicken has cooked for a few minutes. Cookbook authors Lewis and Peacock go all out. They dredge the bird in a flour-cornstarch mixture, then fry it in lard and butter flavored with country ham. Kim, the Korean chef, uses potato flour made into a batter with Korean wheat flour. Husbands likes flour, cornmeal, and bread crumbs with Creole spices.

At home, frying in anything shallow is messy and kind of dangerous. Many Southerners have high-sided cast-iron pan s especially for frying chicken. Deeper fat will maintain a constant temperature. After the meat goes into the hot oil, use an Asian - style skimmer to move it around. When the chicken floats, it's almost done. Drain it on a rack or on crumbled paper towels. Fry in batches and keep the cooked pieces warm in a 200-degree oven.

The last consideration is seasoning and sauce. A little gravy can make the difference between pretty good chicken and the best ever. The Korean ganpoongki is flipped in a wok of sweet, sticky sauce made with vinegar, toasted sesame oil, soy sauce, and sugar. Han tosses his Taiwanese chicken and crispy basil with seasoned five - spice powder (equal parts cinnamon, fennel, star anise, cloves, and Sichuan peppercorns). Husbands makes a dark roux (he calls it "Cajun napalm"), then gravy with rich chicken stock.

Whatever the coating, and whether it comes from a restaurant kitchen or your own stove, fried chicken is the rare dish that's delicious at any temperature: hot out of the pan, warm on the platter, at room temperature on the picnic table, or out of the fridge for a midnight snack. Crunch the crumbs, chew the sweet meat, and lick your fingers.

Buk Kyung II Korean restaurant, 151 Brighton Ave., Allston, 617-254-2775.

Coast Cafe, 233 River St., Cambridge, 617-354-7644.

Mu Lan Taiwanese restaurant, 228 Broadway, Cambridge, 617-441-8813.

SoulFire, 182 Harvard Ave., Allston, 617-787-3003.

Tremont 647, 647 Tremont St., South End, 617-266-4600.