Bad Name, Good Chicken at Todd I Believe I Can Fry

by

The old maxim of books and their covers and the inherent judgment therein does not apply to restaurants. You can actually tell a whole lot about a food spot based on the words on the sign. For instance, anything with a “z” in place of a possessive “s” is not serious. Any place with “Provisions” takes itself too seriously. Abbreviations or acronyms or ampersands indicate aspiration toward the latest Eater list. Any mention of an animal means the menu will feature pork and the chef will have a tattoo of a pig on his or her forearm. A hard to pronounce European term means expensive. An address number or year in the name means very expensive. Any notion of “rustic” means it will be expensive but there will also be a burger.   

By this rubric, Todd I Believe I Can Fry (2159 S. Kinnickinnic Ave.) immediately digs itself a serious hole. First, it is a mouthful. Then there is that coy allusion to a stereotypical Asian mispronunciation. But, fatally, the name is a direct reference to the biggest hit in the career of R. Kelly, convicted sexual abuser, currently serving a 31-year prison sentence.  

Well certainly nobody else is doing all that with their name. 

Korean Fried Chicken

“Todd” in Thai means “fry,” and would seem to make quite a fine name all on its own. But if you can get past the head-scratcher of a moniker and through the door, what awaits is a choose your own adventure of yardbird provisions, and specifically, Korean fried chicken. The style’s hypothesis is, basically, if fry is good, double frying must be better. Smaller chicken parts are favored, and are wet battered, layered with potato starch, fried, allowed to dry, and then fried again. The result is a uniquely crispy, crackly outer texture that holds up to coatings, and steamily pairs as well with ice cold beer as, say, a brat on a mid-summer day. The style is not only a balm to late night munchies and current winter woes, but the antidote to our country’s epidemic of one million sports bars and their uninspired and under-crisped and over-sauced chicken wings.   

Here an impossible calculus of menu possibilities belies a simple base formula: pick a transport vessel (wings, tenders, karaage), then a rider, via any of eight sauces or six powders, and figure how to next level it all toward a satisfaction that will quickly approach sated, possibly gluttonous, definitely gassy. Karaage—yes, you’ll never say it right anyhow, so just ask—is chopped chunks of fried boneless thighs, a staple of Japanese street food. With Szechuan spice powder, the little nubs glow a lava-looking amber, and yield a grainy, starchy, creeping crimson pop, with pins-and-needle numbness rather than straight capsaicin burn. It feels like lip confusion, like the first time your taste buds have tried psychedelics, thrilling in a way well beyond heat or Hot Ones-ness or ghost pepper stunting. The essence will assert itself the next day on the other end too. 

Spice Offerings

Speaking of other ends, one of the lower caliber spice offerings may well be the ideal menu launching point. The soy garlic is tangy, syrupy, pungent and clings to the tenders, leaving bites that are equally juicy, crispy, green onion-y, finger and rib sticking.

But for real chicken and spice heads, everything is but preamble to the almighty wing. Club Garibaldi on an on night, Points East when they feel like it, and The Vanguard on Mondays might be Milwaukee’s most apt representations of the finest IP to ever come out of Buffalo, New York. Spots like Merge and Char’d also offer a crispy Asian iteration, with a similar heavy lean toward the tactile sensation of a proper, full fry: teeth resisting exterior, a salty barrier to entry, a snap, crumble, crunch. There really should be a taut charry wall between mouth and steaming insides. Todd goes for it, and gets it, almost, mostly. Much heavy lifting though seems to come from the sauces, thick and more than a smidge syrupy: the Zesty Buffalo is buttery and svelty, Seoul BBQ is snappy KC-ish, Thai Sweet Chili is goopy but sugar and spice balanced, K-Spice, sesame seed-flecked and funky, is gochujang-based and full on umami, it also bites the back of the throat given a little time. Each feels interesting, satisfying, winter-coat-draping quality wings. But, as a fellow Western New York native agreed: “they could be crispier.”

It's more than satisfactory to keep things familiar here too, say with fries and curds. You could even skew vegetarian with fried tofu or fish. One can also be intestinally irresponsible. Top said fries with Tom Yum powder. Or side everything with kimchislaw, or maybe beef gyoza—oily minced meat dumplings, or possibly korokke—fried potato and vegetable croquettes. There are many such fun words to learn, to say, ideas to experience, and then leftovers to let aromatize your refrigerator, the rest of whose contents will soon seem benign by comparison. 

Throughout is a pleasant attention to detail: Pokka teas, Asian beers on tap or bottle, holes in the go boxes that act as vents, keeping chicken from steaming, maintaining crispiness. There is a menu disclaimer to plan ahead, eat your food within 30 minutes, an endearingly over-bearing nudge of care. Smart signage and a slick website front equally helpful and friendly service.

It’s all a tiny package that is refreshing and hopeful, counter to much of this northern quadrant of Bay View that has started to feel more like the plasticky realization of a go-getting real estate developer’s wet dream than the best neighborhood in the city. Amidst the condos and the prefab, next to the sad, ghostly carcass of C-Viche, down a walkway, is Todd’s kitschy, cartoony interior that feels clean, busy, and bright. This is the first of four pan Asian restaurants, all slated for this development, touted as “Ground 59,” that will share a communal courtyard.  

Inside, the five stools might be fully occupied by bros discussing their three-hour, five-times-a-week workout schedule. And so, at least until patio season, it is mostly a takeout spot. But Todd will quickly fill the car with an essence reeking deep of ginger, spice, and places far enough away that even an ever-trusty Subaru could not reach. Yes, a litany of fried foods is generally quite the opposite of what the doctor ordered. Yet disregarding common medical advice is still largely en vogue: Do your own research. And never judge a book by its cover, nor a restaurant by its name.