I don’t know what “pickleball” is (it’s got bean-bags, right?), but a revitalization, a rebirth, and a restoration of true faith, especially as the real world is starting its descent to ultimate ruin? That — and a hearty meal of chicken — is something I can handle.
As many long-time readers of The Lost Ogle know, I was in a semi-dangerous cult based here in Oklahoma City for about five years. While the whole story will be told someday, once I separated from the homegrown sect, I was left a person with little to no faith...devastated.
Despite it all, I recently took one last shot of spiritual booze and, fingers crossed, I think my wife and I have found a new church. So, I took down the wall I have kept up since my cult catastrophe and multiple strokes and went to a church outing at a lively place you've no doubt heard of.
This is where “pickleball” comes in, as it was the church’s social meet-up last week at Chicken N Pickle, 8400 N. Oklahoma Ave., near the Flix Brewhouse. I already knew I didn’t want to play the made-up sport…no, it was the casual dining and chicken that I was truly craving!
After exchanging greetings and salutations at the long communal tables of the CNP restaurant, my wife and I went to the counter, did some hemming and hawing, and placed our order. The eatery looked like a mall food court, with sports television playing all around us, and the sounds of Billy Joel coming from the surround-sound speakers overhead.
As I planted myself at the table, I told my pastor that one of the reasons we decided on this church was that it was female-led. We talked about that and how my old cult leader was (melodramatically) the devil in disguise. Wanting to hear more, the pastor and I agreed on another date to share more stories, tempering my crazy talk for the time being.
That’s good, because my dinner was served!
Emphasizing both the “chicken” and the “pickle,” our appetizer started us off with the Fried Pickles ($8.99). These were no batter-drenched dill spears, though — they were panko-encrusted pickle chips, served with house-made buttermilk ranch for the dipping.
They were a good selection, with the right amount of sharpness, heft, and bite but—and I can’t believe that I am saying this—they were massively abundant in size and scope. I mean, I was ten minutes into dinner, and we were only about one-fifth through the plate of pickles.
While I wanted a full-blown dinner, my wife craved community... and something simple. She got the Half Rotisserie Chicken ($13.49): a house-seasoned bird, cooked on a rotisserie spit and served with a flour tortilla, sliced avocado, and spicy roasted serrano peppers.
I was truly impressed with how well the chicken was cooked, with all the juices dripping off my fork and onto the plate. Paired with the freshly grilled tortilla, the chilly avocado, and the somewhat hot peppers made this a basic dish that kept her talking throughout the night.
But, for me, I had no such imperatives on my dinner.
Once again, I got the restaurant’s namesake of chicken and pickles, so I sampled the Pickled Chicken ($12.99). It was a grilled chicken breast on a sturdy brioche bun, loaded with bacon, smashed avocado, jack cheese and their original pickle slaw.
I rarely eat chicken sandwiches, but this one was paired with sweet potatoes, and it was pretty damn good! Much like my wife’s rotisserie chicken, the meat was so tender and tasty, with the smeared avocado and that great pickle slaw that really made the sandwich.
As soon as dinner was over, we walked to the pickleball court next door, where people were already playing. It seemed entertaining, for the most part, kind of like tennis, I think? I’m sure people had all kinds of fun.
Not feeling called to the court, I sat outside in the evening shade with a couple of people shooting the breeze. They were having a conversation about, I believe, Dr. Who, as I unwrapped the Cowboy Cookie that I picked up for dessert. As far as cookies go, it was a good one.
As I thought wistfully of the drippy, delicious chicken and hefty pickles, I felt grateful for the light conversation and belonging. I had come full circle with a full belly — no charismatic cult leader or pickleball playing required.
Cómpralo ya!
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Follow Louis Fowler on Instagram at @louisfowler78.
