Rotisserie Georgette’s “luxe” chicken has the look of a Dutch master painting.

          Consider the rare culinary treats that come the way of a professional mouth. Ortolan. Foie gras-stuffed gooseneck. Scrambled eggs with pungent white truffle. In my long life of eat and tell, there was the first sea urchin, the shock of a barely cooked langoustine by Frédy Girardet, the first bollito misto orchestrated by the seductive young Sirio. That doesn’t explain my weakness for chicken, or is it a passion? At dinner if none of my guests order it, I usually do, and even though I tend to loathe the white meat, I will always take whatever part is leftover home for lunch if no one else makes an aggressive move.

          I do love chicken. These are my favorite birds, right now, not exactly in pecking order, given the collision of candidates at the top. I’ll be sitting here all afternoon if I don’t just begin.

Bar Bolonat’s excellent poussin nests in a crunch of rice and potatoes with candied walnuts on top.

          It could be that my favorite right now is Einat Admony’s small and juicy mahogany poussin at her new Bar Bolonat. I think about it a lot, lacquered to a crackle, nested in crisped rice and potatoes in a black iron pan and accessorized with pomegranate caramelized walnuts on top. A few sprigs of green complete the Technicolor effect. The second time there was a tad less socarrat to scrape up. Never mind, if anyone at my table hesitates, I’ll swoop in and finish it off.

          Just last week, this small $32 budgie was almost enough for three of us alongside a plate of peppery hot ,hand-cut pasta with garlic, fresh breadcrumbs and yogurt. Of course, that was after a parade of the house’s best starters: fried cauliflower with peanut tahini crunch, the fatush salad and the eggplant with sheep’s milk yogurt. This spot is small and crowded, the bar packed, not with fashionistas or the beautiful strivers, but with real people of all ages who seem to be drawn by the $13 cocktails and the chef’s riffs on Israeli cooking.

I didn’t mind sticky fingers at La Mangeoire when bird jus soaked the fries but it’s okay this way too.

          For 28 years, La Mangeoire did well enough playing a Provençal game. But with the master Christian Delouvrier now running the kitchen, the house has redefined itself as French Country. His masterly cassoulet of Castelnaudary -- with lamb and pork, pork sausage and tarbais beans -- made the fearsome winter more bearable.

          But it’s the chef’s whole, plump roasted bird, carved in the dining room, rich and succulent, that I celebrate. It used to be served oozing juice onto fat French fries below, with a salad of butter lettuce on top, touched with a mustardy vinaigrette. I loved it that way, but apparently timid regulars found that confusing. So now the fries come alongside, salty and crisper. The salad can be delivered before, with or after. It might be best to order in advance, certainly as soon as you arrive -- it takes a while to roast the whole bird. Sure, you can order a half. too.

1008 Second Avenue between 53rdt and 54th Streets. 212 759 7086. Monday to Thursday noon to 10 pm. Friday till 10:30. Saturday 5:30 to 10:30. Sunday 11 am to 4 and 5:30 to 9 pm.

Every few weeks I’m drawn back to The Writing Room for the rotisserie chicken with roasted veggies.

          I quickly developed a crush on The Writing Room once I realized it wasn’t really about Elaine Kaufman, but was more about the rotisserie chicken with roasted vegetables. Not everything on the menu of pop favorites is equally winning. But I’m back again and again, trying to persuade my friends to join me in a whole bird, hoping they will favor the breast meat so I can dominate the dark. This is no shy poussin. It’s a well-raised grown-up, easily big enough for four. I also recommend the fried chicken with an old-fashioned biscuit, but not the too-vinegary coleslaw. It would be derelict not to note that my favorite dessert is the trio of chocolate-covered creamsicles escorted by a melting brownie.

          They know me now, and I am rewarded with a table in the quieter library. Friends who recently sat upfront were so spooked by the revved-up din that they left half way through dinner. They got an email offering a refund, urging them to return. I’m assured sound proofing panels and padding are in the works.

1705 Second Avenue between 88th and 89th Street. 212 335 0075 Dinner Sunday through Thursday 5:30 to 11 pm., Friday and Saturday till midnight. Brunch Saturday and Sunday 11 to 3:30.

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A Dim Sum Wizard Stuffs Chicken

After too many dim sum at Red Farm, I must finish with Chef Ng’s masterly shrimp-stuffed chicken.

          It’s enough to say that when you and your friends have sampled your fill of Chef-Partner Joe Ng’s brilliant dim sum at the Upper West Side Red Farm, there is one perfect finale: his dazzling vision of that Cantonese banquet dish, shrimp stuffed chicken. The bird’s skin has been dried and woked to a thick crunch, layered with sensuous shrimp paste and cobbled with bits of dried and fried rice. String beans, broccoli rabe or sugar snaps will come alongside for the color, of course, and to satisfy your mom who wants you to eat your vegetables

          My favorite warm ups include smoked salmon-eggplant bruschetta, the shrimp and snow pea dumpling, little vegetable-peanut bundles, five-flavor chicken, and the Shanghai pork-and-crab soupy buns. You may feel the intensity of the dozens queued up for tables here. I order the fruit plate anyway and linger over mango, pineapple, melon and berries.

2170 Broadway between 76th and 77th Strrets. 724 9700. Monday through Thursday lunch 10 am to 3 pm, Dinner 4:45 to 11 pm. Friday and Saturday to 11: 45 pm. Saturday and Sunday brunch 11 to 3 pm. Sunday dinner till 10:30 pm.

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Jonathan Does Italy

Jonathan Waxman’s oven-roasted bird at Barbuto offers a welcome escape from restaurant madness.

          After some years of wandering, Jonathan Waxman has settled at Barbuto in front of the big brick oven where he channels his affection for Italian simplicity. His fans crowd this abandoned Village garage with its concrete floors and walls that roll up, weather permitting. Start, as I do, with a salad, or share a pasta. Then attack the chef’s crisp-crusted signature bird, still just $19. There’s nothing more on the plate than his lemony salsa verde: rough chopped parsley, basil, arugula and mint with a hit of garlic and bits of hot pepper in an olive oil emulsion. The chicken is pretty much the same when he’s not there, but watching him move lazily in front of the fire adds to the gravitas of this iconic plate.

775 Washington Street between Jane and West 12th Streets. 212 924 9700. Lunch Sunday through Wednesday noon to 5:30, dinner 5:30 to 11 pm. Thursday through Saturday noon to 5:30, dinner 5:30 to midnight. Sunday dinner 5:30 to 10 pm

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Georgette Fires Up the Rotisserie

Rotisserie Georgette plays to the uptown crowd Georgette knows from the Empire of Boulud.

          I like the period French look at Rotisserie Georgette -- the Portuguese tiles framing the mostly- open kitchen, the dark wood armoire, the palatial drapes, the flea market tapestry and the eccentric collection of mirrors. And though it took a while for the kitchen to hit its stride, three of us recently savored her $72 Poule de Luxe for two with potatoes soaked in its drippings.

          I could live without the seared foie gras nuggets (that’s the “luxe”) and I wouldn’t mind more wild mushroom stuffing, but the bird is really juicy now, full of flavor, seasoning revved-up -- even the white meat is wonderfully moist. Ordering tarte tatin for the table brought Georgette herself with a crock of crème fraîche.

14 East 60th Street between Fifth and Madison Avenues. 212 390 8060. Lunch, Monday to Saturday noon to 3 pm. Dinner Sunday and Monday 5:45 to 10 p.m., Tuesday to Saturday 5:45 to 11.

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Charles Country Fried Chicken

The fried chicken master Charles Gabriel crisps the birds that star in his Harlem buffet.

          Four of us met one Tuesday at the tiny Country Pan-Fried Chicken to taste Charles Gabriel’s $15 all-you-can-eat buffet. We actually called ahead to reserve. Two other tables were occupied in the tiny storefront -- one guy, getting a third fill-up, arranged his plate like a regular. Gabriel’s granddaughter served the carryout customers while we helped ourselves to barbecue ribs and wings, waiting for a fresh delivery of fried bird, best eaten hot. I took a heaping tablespoon of potato salad, some collards and a mess of mac’n’cheese, rather like my mom’s, sticking to the sides of a sheet pan -- (I scraped away for all the crisp edges.)

          Then he shouldered in, Harlem’s legendary fried chicken master, a solid man in white lugging a big covered sheet pan, and set it on the edge of the buffet. Hot chicken. He acknowledged with a laugh that he was indeed the one and only master, Charles Gabriel.

          I took a big fat thigh and threw some more macaroni on a fresh Styrofoam plate, since moderation was no longer an option. For my first bite, I took the crunchy part that goes over the fence last. I can’t really say that this is the best fried chicken in New York. I’d have to spend weeks exploring rivals and pretenders. I only know it was tender, juicy, crunchy and delicately greasy -- sublime.

Country Pan-Fried Chicken, 2839 Frederick Douglas Boulevard (8th Ave.) between 151st and 152nd Streets. 212 281 1800.

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That Craving for French

I count on Benoit to offer a classic chicken for two among its seasonal bistro dishes.

          When I’m hungry for French -- modernist French won’t do. It has to be classic and I think of Benoit, settled by Alain Ducasse in the space that used to be La Côte Basque till Jean Jacques Rachou left in a rage over health inspectors invading the kitchen during lunch. Ducasse added a sexy little bar with cherubs in the ceiling, but it wasn’t till he lured Philippe Bertineau into the kitchen that Benoit found its French soul.

          I don’t even try to resist my usual starter, the country-style frisée, bathed in bacon fat, with a thunderstorm of crisp bacon lardons under its perfect poached egg. Inspired choice for a woman in denial. Then the chicken for two with a scattering of fresh herbs and half a garlic bulb on top. If I can’t persuade anyone to join me, I’ll take the leftovers home.

60 West 55th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. 646 943 7373. Lunch Monday through Saturday. 11:45 am to 5:30 pm. Dinner Monday through Sunday 5:30 to 11 pm. Brunch Sunday 11:30 am to 3:30 pm.

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Hill Country Does Pies and Thighs

I don’t mind lining up for Hill Country’s battered thighs, the big crumbly biscuits and cherry pie.

          Given I’m a fool for the three nutritional essentials of fast food -- salt, fat and sugar -- there was not much dignity in my lust the evening I discovered Hill Country Chicken. A plus for that fast food approach is that I can ignore the white meat and scoop up some thighs and head downstairs, hoping to snag a table. As I’ve confessed, I’m not a certified fried chicken expert, but I find these plump, moist, buttermilk-brined birds from Bell and Evans can hold their own in fast company. Grandma El’s skinless parts, with a secret spicy coating, are luscious, though too salty for my taste. I prefer the Texas classic, densely, deliciously crumbed, skin and all. Maybe it’s not the paragon of greasy richness Gabriel dishes up, but the bird itself is wondrously moist and rather elegant.     

          And the sides are good enough. The secret of the cheesy fried mashed potatoes is pimento cheese. The creamy coleslaw is just creamy enough, not over mayo’d. But the prize in the Cracker Jack box here are the small pies at $4.25. “Double cherry,” it says on the menu. “Salted Margarita,” “Apple Streusel.”

1123 Broadway at 25th Street, 212 257 6446. Monday through Friday 7:30 a. to 10 pm. Saturday and Sunday 9 am to 10 pm.

An ambitious Japanese couple offer many parts of creatures that fly at Mountain Bird in Harlem.

          Only after surrendering to the obsession of Mountain Bird -- a menu focused on creatures with wings -- does the frenzy of the waitress and the creep of the kitchen become clear. This charming little find on a shabby stretch of 145th Street is totally staffed by husband and wife Kenichi and Keiko Tajima and a lone dishwasher. No wonder Kenichi is everywhere, on wings of her own. Meanwhile, we’re loving the warm pumpernickel baguette with vanilla butter, shrimp bisque mac & cheese -- a searing hot crock of over-the-top mad indulgence -- and the impressively juicy chicken schnitzel inside its crusty overcoat.

          You might want to try the $8 “Tasty Bites from Head-to-Toe” as a starter: chicken comb cutlet, duck gizzard and heart, chicken liver pâté with Port Wine and chicken wing lollipop with black truffle dressing. If you only get one dessert, let it be the chef’s seductive toffee layer cake, made with dried mission figs and frosted with a blend of cream cheese and sour cream.

231 West 145th Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. 212 281 5752. Tuesday through Thursday 5:30 to 10 pm, Friday and Saturday till 11 pm. Sunday brunch 11:30 am till 2 pm. Dinner 5 to 9 pm. Closed Monday.

Photos may not be used without permission of Gael Greene. Copyright 2014. All rights reserved.

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