OK, the fitness kick didn’t last long – the eldest and I went to a restaurant last night that specialises in fried chicken, champagne and sneakers (to wear, not eat).
The youngest was at a sleepover, so we decided to try a new place called Butter. There are three Butters – one in Surry Hills, one in Parramatta and one in Chatswood.
The one we went to is a shopping centre and looks a bit like a nightclub has been deposited in the food court. The eldest thought the sneakers for sale beside our table were ugly, but the fried chicken was yum.
I tried the fried chicken sandwich with dashi and pickles, with “laces” on the side (the Butter version of fries – which are sprinkled with homemade shiitake seasoning – as Concrete Playground notes “you’ll never look at chicken salt the same way again”) and some buttermilk ranch for dipping. As I’m currently on a beer budget, I sipped Italian prosecco rather than French bubbles (there was also Verve on offer for $25 a glass and $450 bottles of Krug for those feeling extra fancy)
The chicken is brined in buttermilk then dipped in a cayenne and cumin-spiced batter. The sneakers are wrapped in plastic because people collect them apparently.
Among the other enticing offerings we didn’t get to try were marinated charcoal chicken, fried chicken XO noodles and donuts, which the friendly waiter said we must sample next time we visit (although perhaps not in the Fried Chicken & Donut dish – two crispy fried chicken tenders, salted butter, pure maple syrup and a hot donut on the same plate).
The menu is a long stretch from KFC, with wacky side dishes including mashed potato with ramen gravy, crispy fried aphrodite haloumi with spicy mayo and corn with miso butter. You can also get your “laces” drizzled with nutella (blergh, count us out on that one).
And that’s all I have time to tell you today, because I’ve been flat out like a lizard drinking getting the weekly Drinks Digest newsletter out and avoiding a message request on Instagram from an ex Bachelor contestant who I may have insulted by saying I’d never heard of her in a story I wrote about an RTD launch I wasn’t invited to because I’m not a bikini-clad influencer. I may have also retold a story from the Daily Mail about her looking for a husband at Bunnings and saying any tool would do. Eeek – the things you shouldn’t publish late at night.
See you tomorrow when I’ve had a chance to catch my breath.
housegoeshome 
Leave a comment