Original Article By: River Front Times

Author: Alexa Beattie

The local hot chicken fave is now a chain, and our critic finds much to love

A year or so ago, literally moments after I’d filched a bite, and then another, of my son’s hot chicken sandwich from Chuck’s, I was wrenching my car into gear and scorching my Michelins all the way to Rock Hill. And never mind the nonsense about the 20-minute distance between any two points in this town; that journey seemed to take forever. I can completely promise that I’d never experienced this rather ugly, certainly greedy and exceedingly “present-day” must-have-now! reflex with food before, although I experience it most days on Amazon with non-comestibles like fake nails and little gold chains. Which is a long and boring way of saying to you that I absolutely loved it. I loved that hot chicken from the Rock Hill Chuck’s.

So I’m pleased. The gods have delivered. A brand new Chuck’s has seeded itself 1.38 miles from my house in the Courtesy Diner’s old space on Kingshighway. And it’s seeded also in Maryland Heights, O’Fallon and Wichita, Kansas, with another franchise in Arnold on the way in the summer. Speaking on the down-low, a manager told me there were even rumblings about taking the chicken over the river (to Edwardsville and Collinsville). My heart sank a little, thinking about things like rarity and specialty, even though clearly there’s a current trend for this kind of spicy poultry. And yet, the closings in the past couple of years of more elevated restaurants in town serving it (Southern, Sunday Best, etc.), seem to suggest otherwise.

I was glad to be with my friend at the new Chuck’s Hot Chicken (3155 South Kingshighway Boulevard), which is a walk-up window with picnic tables and no inside seating. I had a warm sun on my back and was already liking my picnic because it came in sturdy cardboard, not styrofoam. But I wasn’t necessarily digging the view. There was a man pumping his gas a few feet away — so close that an earlier version of me might have punted a corn fritter his way. But I’ve grown up a bit; those dear little footballs of clustered kernels like jewels were far too good to be shared. So, yes, there’s a gas mart right next door and an O, O, O, O’Reilly Auto Parts across the street. But bite by bite, these jerry-built surroundings seemed to matter less and less.

If a waffle longed to be a doughnut its whole life, if it yearned to be a puffed and tender, cross-hatched hotcake (buttery, and crunchy with sugar crystals), it would be finding inner peace at Chuck’s. I couldn’t get over them and went at mine like a weasel on eggs. “Oh dear, weren’t those supposed to be eaten with the chicken?” I said. The chicken — although not entirely its fault, this was a damn good waffle — then felt a bit subordinate. It didn’t have the tenderness I remembered from that halcyon day on Manchester Road.

And isn’t that the rub when it comes to chains? Consistency is not only key, but a must. Although, to be fair, the chicken’s exterior — ruddily, crustily spiced and definitely not too oily — was familiar to me, and the rubberiness inside did mostly depend on the part we happened to be eating. The breasts — the usual problem — edged toward tough. But, “mmmm,” my friend said, chomping down on a wing. “This tastes just like KFC.” I checked her face; I couldn’t tell if she was being rude. She wasn’t. She was smiling and her head was nodding. It was the third time in about a week I’d heard someone laud the Colonel, who, with our current obsession, may be having another day in the sun. As to the syrup which came alongside, I wanted to say, “Lose the Smucker’s!” But still, I doused it on.

There are six possible heat levels at Chuck’s. We came to a quick conclusion that we were — shall I say? — too chicken for much beyond zero, for surely only a drunkard with cauterized taste buds from a previous visit would claw to the top of this heat ladder. If ever there were a drinking challenge, this is it. And actually, as the menu cautions, it’s no joke. So much of a no-joke, in fact, that Jason Robins, general manager of this Kingshighway branch, said he’s been tempted to send out any order of heat level five or above with a barf bag. Yup, hands down, that sells me on a restaurant. Charles Fulks, who was picking up some GrubHub to deliver, told me he ordered a level one and then, on a subsequent visit, upped it another three rungs. “I said, ‘We gotta go home,'” Fulks said.

Robins wouldn’t talk about specific spices, but he did explain Chuck’s process, which creates varying degrees of heat via an initial dip in cayenne oil followed by a partial or whole dredging in thermogenic “salt and pepper.” Add in the kind of death sauce that’s kept behind glass and you’re all the way to the top. This chicken, quite literally, will blow your beans. Like I said, though, heat wasn’t our game. We know better. There’s a lot to be said about a subtler, milder chicken. For one thing: You can actually taste it.

We ordered a zero and we ordered a level one, and then some other gentle things: The garlic cheese curds, for instance, are sweet, soft little pebbles, bouncy and herb-flecked. I tried and tried to elicit the “squeak” that a friend from Wisconsin tells me is the mark of a good one, but they didn’t peep. The chicken sandwich (with pickles and Chuck’s umamish special sauce) was mostly what I wanted it to be. But the buns, I’m afraid, were as dry as level five is hot. No biggie.

I’m still slightly tempted to say, “Ditch the Smucker’s,” but that would be snobby, and it would be me not standing by my claim that we don’t need to be posh when it comes to what is, in essence, one of this country’s more honest and unaffected things to eat. We don’t need flounce when it comes to hot chicken, because it may actually taste better when you’re sitting at a red metal picnic table next to a gas pump, across from an auto parts shop, with Home Depot rising like an umber hill in the distance. And I’d only rather Chuck’s wasn’t becoming a chain because with chains, there’s that gnarly issue of consistency, and because with chains, I see dollar signs; a lust for more. But while “more” can feel like less to me, I’m feeling pretty confident that our Chuck will make it work.