The Glory of Chicken Fried Steak

Me, in Florida at 17. Note yearning expression: I knew I was missing something, just not that it was CFS.

Until the time I graduated high school, I’d never once been to Texas (my loss, totally). In fact, my only visit to any southern state was a week in the Florida Keys in eleventh or twelfth grade. With my parents. So the fact that I’d never eaten, or even heard of, chicken fried steak shouldn’t have surprised my friend Alex that much.

We were out to dinner in Houston during my first visit there, and Alex had put his menu down and was staring at me across the table, the look on his face making me wonder if my pineal gland had erupted from my forehead (which reminds me: Re-Animator is hilarious and gross, and you should watch it).

“You’re telling me that you haven’t even tried it?” Alex asked me.

“Dude, I’ve never heard of it. Is it chicken, or steak?”

Telling him I needed a nightlight and a sock monkey to get to sleep couldn’t have made me a more pathetic case in Alex’s eyes. Clearly, my menu options had just dwindled to exactly one.

Once it arrived though, it all made sense. Good CFS is great. Great CFS is sublime. A tender steak, battered and fried in oil (chicken fried – get it?), served with a creamy pepper gravy. A dish fit for President Sam Houston himself.

Just where the hell CFS originated is hotly debated down Texas way, but the story I like best is about Jimmy Don Perkins, a short-order cook from Lamesa that supposedly misread a dupe about a hundred years ago. Whether due to the waitress’ lousy handwriting or the onion fumes in Jimmy’s eyes, he read “chicken, fried steak” without the comma. So he just went ahead and chicken-fried a steak.

Steak. Chicken-fried. Topped with peppery gravy. Thank you Jimmy Don.

In the world of happy culinary accidents, this one tops them all. Even the whole “chocolate in my peanut butter” mistake bows down before the glorious creation of CFS. And while there are other stories about where CFS comes from (the German immigrants in the Texas hill country claim CFS lineage to a variant on wiener schnitzel, and other folks claim it’s just good ol’ southern cuisine), as far as I’m concerned it’s Jimmy Don that should be knighted (you know, if we did that sort of thing here).

Thankfully, you don’t have to travel to Texas to get good CFS. It’s fairly easy to make (although it might leave your kitchen smelling like grease until the return of Halley’s Comet in 2061), and the recipe is easy to play around with without endangering its core glory. I’ve broken the cooking process into four simple steps: tweak each as you wish.

Step One: Get a Steak

You want a nice tender steak for good CFS, and there are a couple of methods you can use to get your hands on one. If you have a tenderizing mallet (those crazy square spiked hammers that you threatened your neighbor with when you were drunk and their dog wouldn’t shut up because it barks at frigging falling leaves), use that to beat the crap out of your steaks. If you don’t, grab some nice cubed steaks from the market. Season with salt either way.

Step Two: Make Some Batter

Season some flour with your choice of goodies: pepper is required, but it’s up to you to select other things like paprika, Old Bay, dry mustard and the like. Set up an egg wash in a second bowl by two combining eggs, two cups of milk and some hot sauce (I like Crystal).

Now here’s the trick: instead of going with the boring and common flour dredging, then egg washing, then re-dredging, try the egg wash first. Follow it with a deep dredging, then hit the egg again before frying. Hitting it with a dip into a bowl of breadcrumbs after that last egg wash is optional, though not if you’re looking for the heaviest possible meal. Panko can work nicely, but don’t tell your friends from Lamesa you did that.

Step Three: Chicken-fry Your Steak

You’ll need a nice puddle of hot frying liquid, though not enough to change the oil in your car; I’d suggest a quarter-inch or so. Canola oil, vegetable oil, or good ol’ shortening will do fine. Get it going to around 350 degrees and lay the steaks in, being careful to not mistake your batter-covered thumb for a small hunk of beef. Three to five minues a side should do; remove them when they’re golden brown.

Step Four: Makin’ The Gravy

It’s said that Elvis’ veins ran white with this stuff.  Pour off most of the leftover oil, leaving a few tablespoons and any solid chunks of batter laying about. Add a few tablespoons of flour and stir constantly to brown it. Whisk in a couple of cups of milk (or for fat-Elvis-in-a-jumpsuit-style, use heavy cream), some salt, and a ton of coarsely ground black pepper. Keep whisking over a low heat until you’re confident it will clog your arteries. Serve it over the steaks.

That’s it. Four steps to heaven for your belly and hell for your heart. Thanks, Alex – I owe you one.