The Ole Stomping Grounds

Nothing like a good plate of food to feed the nostalgia.

I made it myself.

There are a lot of perks to going to college in a diverse city like Miami. For me, it was definitely the food. In college, one of my favorite places to go was a “healthy” fast food place called Chicken Kitchen. I grew up about two hours north of Miami, and Chicken Kitchen was the local answer to a popular food chain called Pollo Tropical.

The food at Chicken Kitchen is simple. Grilled chicken, rice, and toppings: the chop chop. What sets Chicken Kitchen apart from other chop chop places is their curry mustard sauce. It’s tangy and spicy and creamy. It’s the acid that the chop chop calls for.

Chicken Kitchen’s original location was just south of campus. It was walkable if you were willing to brave the Miami humidity and cross U.S. 1 on foot. The store was in a shitty, run-down plaza with limited parking. There was always a line out the door and finding a table was never easy. The whole restaurant was decorated in a brown tile that had been on clearance in the 70s.

When you walked in you could hear the hum of Cuban music playing on the speakers, the cooks shouting in Spanish, and the constant rhythm of chopping as the cooks cut the grilled chicken into small chunks.

Whenever I would walk up to order, I was never greeted in English, always in Spanish. When Justin and I would go to Chicken Kitchen, he was always greeted in English. Much of my time in Miami was spent having to explain that I wasn’t Latina and didn’t speak Spanish, but I understood it because Italian is so similar.

My go-to order is the Cuban chop chop. It comes with rice (I always get the yellow rice), black beans, chicken, lettuce, tomatoes, and the to-die-for curry sauce. I know this doesn’t sound like something to write home about, but friends, it fucking is.

When I was in Florida last week, I took the kid with me to Miami. We took a quick trip to the campus store so he could get a sweatshirt, but more importantly, we got there around lunchtime, which meant one thing: we were going to get Chicken Kitchen.

Kiddo is nine, so of course, he loves to complain and thinks everything I like is stupid.

“I don’t like Chicken Kitchen,” he said as we started down US1.

“How can you not like something you’ve never had?”

“I just know I won’t like it.”

Have I mentioned how having children is a great idea?

I pulled into the plaza and realized that where there once was Chicken Kitchen there was a bakery. For a moment, I panicked.

“They moved?!” I said to no one.

After a quick Google search, I found the new address. It was around the corner. We parked and walked up. I pulled open the door.

This wasn’t Chicken Kitchen. The décor was modern and white. It was bright and well-lit. The bathrooms were easy to get to, and the line wasn’t out the door. I worried I was going to be disappointed with the food.

I ordered our food, and we sat down.

I mixed the rice, beans, chicken, lettuce, and tomatoes with the curry sauce and took a bite. Just as good as I remembered it. A perfectly balanced bite of food. A cornucopia of textures. Miami magic.

The kid took a bite of his food, and I watched his brown eyes widen.

“Mommy, do they have Chicken Kitchen in North Carolina?”

“No, honey.”

“That’s a tragedy.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

For the rest of our trip, the child kept talking about Chicken Kitchen, so naturally, I decided I would try to replicate the food.

I started by doing a quick search online. The food blogs didn’t fail me when it came to the curry mustard sauce, but none of them had the chicken right. One blog said to use rotisserie chicken. NO. Another said to bake it using just olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Had these bloggers even eaten at Chicken Kitchen? The chicken is grilled. It’s full of flavor and smokey from the grill.

I took matters into my own hands. I decided to marinate the chicken and grill it.

I made some Spanish rice and riffed on one of the blog recipes for the curry sauce. When the chicken was done, I let it rest and then chopped it without the fanfare of Chicken Kitchen cook since I don’t own a meat cleaver.

When Justin came downstairs to plate up his food, he was excited.

He dished up his plate. The child made his plate. I started to plate my food. The smell of black beans and grilled chicken permeated the kitchen.

“This isn’t half bad,” Justin said. “It’s pretty good.”

I took a bite of the chicken covered in the curry mustard sauce and was transported back to Miami.

“I did it,” I said with a little shimmy. “I made Chicken Kitchen!”

So, here’s what I did.

Cuban Chop Chop Chicken Kitchen Copycat Recipe