Cafe Chanticleer’s 21 Chicken Dishes Something to Crow About

A playful menu writer--or one who was nipping at the sherry while he worked--might have counted himself clever had he attempted to set the Cafe Chanticleer’s list of 21 chicken dishes in rhyming verse. This did not happen, but still, one sees the possibilities of such an effort.

For example, the list might begin this way:

We’ve got chicken curry,

Cacciatore,

Chicken Murphy, too.

Chicken in whiskey,

Fricassee,

And chicken Cordon Bleu. The dishes that end in “a”-- piccata, Marsala and Parmigiana--would then come in, to be followed by coq au vin, chicken tarragon, chicken maison, and so forth. The only dish that might prove difficult to fit into this simple rhyme scheme would be chicken in the pot.

It might seem that Cafe Chanticleer celebrates poultry with a single-mindedness unmatched by many restaurants outside the Kentucky Fried Chicken chain. In fact, however, this eatery’s menu runs to a good many dishes that have little or nothing to do with the hen house, such as veal scallops cooked in a number of fashions, a couple of steaks and various seafood preparations.

This small, shopping-center cafe in the Sports Arena area ranks as one of the nicer finds of the year. (The restaurant, by the way, borrowed its name from the rooster that is one the protagonists in the medieval epic, “Reynard the Fox.”) Operated by Danish-born chef Erik Petersen, Cafe Chanticleer offers well-prepared, thoughtful and occasionally imaginative food in an environment that lacks any particular style, but at prices that seem almost impossibly low. Chicken dishes average $6.95, veal dishes $9.95, and all meals include both soup and salad, as well as a healthy supply of hot, fragrant garlic bread.

The parade of poultry aside, Chanticleer also offers a list of nightly specials that is as long as many restaurants’ menus, and it is this list that particularly alerts guests to Petersen’s versatility in the kitchen. The prices compete with those of the standing menu. A partial listing of one night’s special offerings includes pytti panna, the classic Swedish hash; veal Oskar, the combination of veal scallops, crab, asparagus and hollandaise sauce that was invented for a Danish king; jarret boulangere, or lamb shank braised in brown sauce; veal medallions with pheasant pate; orange roughy in hollandaise; and several other fish preparations, each in its own sauce.

Choice seems to be one of Petersen’s watchwords. Even the soup that is included in the meal is chosen by the diner from a list of three or four nightly options, of which several were tasted over the course of a pair of visits. A Manhattan clam chowder featured well blended flavors but a little bit of grit, too, which indicated that the clams should have been scrubbed more thoroughly before they were tossed in the pot. A lentil soup was thick and hearty, and the mulligatawny--that lightly spiced pseudo-Indian soup of past gastronomic fame--included a wealth of vegetables and a slight undertone of curry powder.

The salad arrived family-style, a simple combination of lettuce and tomato arranged neatly in a large wooden bowl, from which guests helped themselves to as much as they wished. The dressing, which a server described as “Caesar-style” certainly was not; it seemed nothing more complicated than a blending of red wine vinegar and oil. However, given the price of the meal, this seems a very small issue, and the salad was in any case satisfactory.

Despite Chanticleer’s emphasis on chicken in a multiplicity of guises, only one of these dishes was chosen, simply because the specials were so interesting. The dish in question, chicken Murphy, was uncomplicated but satisfying: a melange of smothered onion and green pepper strips topped an entire breast, which had been flattened, floured, and sauteed to a nice, succulent finish.

The most delightful special may have been the Swedish pytti panna hash, which the Danish Chef Petersen interpreted to include chopped corned beef, an element that does not appear in the classic Swedish version. But Petersen was careful to add chopped ham, roast beef, potatoes and onions in equal proportions, and to fry this flavorful mix until it was nicely crusted and steaming. A poached egg, poised atop the mound, added richness, and the dill pickle spears that garnished the plate served to point up the essentially rustic nature of this excellent preparation.

The pork tenderloin au poivre proved almost equally delicious. The meat, sliced into thick scallops and coated with egg and flour, was browned in hot butter and finished with a sauce of the pan juices mixed with a little cream and a heaping spoonful of spicy green peppercorns. The size of the serving actually was a little daunting.

An offering of duck finished with raspberry sauce sounded to be somewhat outside Petersen’s range, because this dish has a nouvelle accent that does not square well with this chef’s basically classic tone. He did the dish well, though, by moderating the sweetness of the sauce and cooking the bird to a well-done turn that left the meat juicy and very, very tender. (Duck, as prepared by some of the more pretentious chefs these days, often is rather rare and thus somewhat chewy, a situation that does not agree with everyone.)

The lobster Newburgh (offered at a truly remarkable $9.95) had absolutely nothing to do with Newburgh as it is commonly known, but was a pleasant dish that the low price made only more enjoyable. Served in the shell, the meat had been chunked, lightly sauteed, and spread with both cheese and hollandaise, a happy if unusual combination that did the lobster full justice. (A genuine Newburgh, it should be noted, consists of lobster meat cooked in sherry, to which cream and egg yolks are added to make an extremely rich sauce.)

The dessert list takes but a moment to read, perhaps because the meals are so large that many guests have no appetite left for this course. Petersen does offer one of those tasty little nothings that European chefs seem so adept at whipping up; called the “red balloon,” it consists of a scoop of vanilla ice cream drenched with raspberry sauce and a touch of Grand Marnier. The secret to eating this dish is to dig to the bottom of the glass, where the raspberry sauce and Grand Marnier have stolen away to form a truly blissful union.

CAFE CHANTICLEER

3960 W. Point Loma Blvd.

226-7473.

Credit cards accepted.

Dinner served 5 to 10 p.m. seven nights a week.