“I’m trying to cut down on fried chicken before noon,” drawls
the young man sitting at my table. We’re in Pine State Biscuits’
cramped dining room. It’s just after 11 am. He nearly made it.
Woe to the health-conscious biscuit acolyte who discovered Pine
State at the Portland Farmers Market, yet could only indulge in a
delicious mélange of fat and carbohydrates once a week. With a
new storefront on SE Belmont, Pine State is now serving fried chicken
and biscuits Tuesday through Sunday, every morning, starting at 7 am.
They should warn the cardiologists.
What do biscuits have to do with fried chicken? The answer is Pine
State’s Reggie Deluxe. Certainly the most lauded item on the menu
(Esquire named it one of America’s best sandwiches), the Reggie
Deluxe is a tower of fried chicken breast, egg, cheese, and bacon,
drenched in gravy and nestled between two halves of a homemade
biscuit.
Calling the Reggie Deluxe a “sandwich” is like calling a ’62
Cadillac Coupe de Ville a compact car. This is not the meat and lettuce
mash-up your mom jammed into a Ziploc. It is a tricked-out, highly
engineered means of conveying fatty goodness into your digestive
system. It also requires cutlery. Straight off the fork, the salt and
crispness of the fried chicken blends with the tang of gravy while
cheese and egg yolk add richness to the texture. As you hack away, the
stack slowly breaks down into the gravy pooled on the plate. The end
result: a delicious mess.
The folks running Pine State hail from North Carolina, where
biscuits are a way of life. I lived there for a month with a
90-year-old woman named Nanny. Her biscuits were a staple in the house:
eaten with jam for breakfast, with cheese for lunch, and finally,
sopping up juices from country ham and collard greens at dinner. It’s
likely the largess of memory, but Pine State’s biscuits simply cannot
compete with Nanny’s. I will, however, admit they are the best I’ve had
in Portland. These biscuits are sturdy, and rightly so. They are not
flagrantly flaky, possessing just a bit of crumble without being dry.
Adequate on their own, when topped with Pine State’s perfectly piquant,
white cheddar-studded pimento spread, the biscuits purr with flavor.
They also work exceptionally well with Pine State’s white wine and
rosemary-hued, shitake mushroom gravy. Add an egg and you’re eating the
Moneyball, a hangover cure handed down from the Divine.
With such fine selections, you might overlook the McIsley, a
brow-hiking and ingenious combination of fried chicken, pickles, honey,
and mustard. Those who take a chance will find notes of honey Dijon
buried deep in a handsome crunch, as the stone-ground mustard mingles
with strong dill pickles and local honey. It also smells freakishly
good.
With such cultish craving for their creations, it’s strange that
Pine State Biscuits would have such little space for its clientele.
Three tables and a short bar are not enough. Things could get ugly in
the biscuit line. Three words: outdoor seating, please.
On the whole, Pine State does it right. Give them a larger space and
a little time and no one in Portland will wait for noon to eat fried
chicken.