The most exclusive dining destination you never want to visit

Massive portions and classic recipes are the highlights of the most exclusive dining destination you never want to visit. The dress code is strict and I couldn’t find the wine list; nevertheless, this county jail is a hidden gem on small-town America’s gastronomic map.

Dining here is an experience to which many inedible factors bend their charm; the white walls, steel fixtures, and chipped-paint concrete floors are sparse and honest, if not comfortable. The harsh fluorescent lighting and sterile environment create an interesting sort of tension that the food effectively releases. This is where the real magic of this place lies; a terrific, comforting contrast between my lonely table for one and the homestyle warmth of the menu items such as Sunday night’s chicken pot pie. This week it was hand-delivered by the chef himself who proclaimed it “the best chicken pie this side of the Mississippi”.

Before I investigate the authenticity of this claim I must emphasize that it was not the best looking pie, in part due to its deconstructed presentation. The reality is, a plastic segmented tray constrains the plating to a certain configuration that makes liquid or semi-solid foods appear rather unappealing. Whereas a bowl’s roundness and depth are well-suited to liquids, a flat tray creates only shallow rectangular puddles.

The visual appeal of a pot pie rests largely, I now realize, on the golden brown crust over the top. This rendition consisted of filling heaped onto the tray with a biscuit on the side. While clever, the exposure of the filling caused in me a slight unease and hindered my enjoyment of the meal at first. However, I soon began to appreciate the liberal inclusion of colorful peas and carrots, resulting in a delightful kaleidoscopic stew of sorts.

The side dishes, corn and green beans, did not do the presentation any favors. Both colors of yellow and green were amply represented in the main course already. The dessert, served on the same tray, was a dark brown amorphous blob of chocolate pudding. No thought was given to its appearance.

An odd quirk of this establishment--I found no cutlery with which to eat my dessert besides the same plastic spork I used to eat my dinner. This was not an oversight however--the bright orange spork (presumably for high visibility should a rowdy patron decide it makes a better weapon than a utensil) seems to be an acceptable compromise for all applications except spaghetti.

The textural landscape of this meal held no surprises. The side dishes were reasonably crisp for having come out of cans, and the pot pie filling was appropriately silky. The vegetables in the pie were fine counterpoints to the roux and tender shredded chicken. I have two chief complaints: I would have preferred the mouthfeel of larger pieces of chicken and the biscuit on its own was dry, but there was a happy accident in the latter’s presentation—prior to my meal’s delivery the biscuit sat in the pie filling, allowing it to absorb some of the liquid. This had a profound effect as the bottom of the biscuit took on the texture of a dumpling. Just short of becoming soggy, it retained a nice bite that complemented the smooth filling well. The pudding’s texture was a little too gelatinous.

Flavor-wise, this dish held its own in contention with memories of home cooked pot pie. It did not have an industrial flavor profile as one might expect, but one that was seemingly built from ingredients grandma would use. The salt level was appropriate and it needed no additional spices but commissary hot sauce would have taken this meal to its logical conclusion. The canned corn kernels did not taste too much of can and neither did the green beans, but the corn was significantly more flavorful. The pudding tasted like it was served from a fifty-five gallon drum.

Overall this tray properly exceeded my expectations, earning itself a positive rating. But is it the best chicken pie this side of the Mississippi? Come and see!