Yardbird - Hong Kong

Night number one, venturing out of our hotel, but too timid to venture far. The centrally-located Yardbird is only a few walking blocks away, and have zero regrets about getting lost three times. This may be the sexiest restaurant on earth.  

Yardbird plays your sense of exclusivity against your desire for inclusion. The wait is an epic and integral part of the experience, and your evening starts at the standing counters, not the bar. But the counters are sleek, and when you place your cocky sticker to stake your claim, you're far more excited than annoyed, and you can’t help but flirt and banter as you look over the food and drinks. 

They serve a scrumptious list of whiskey, full of smooth Suntory and flowing Nikka. I try their house made Umeshu, a plum liquor that reminds me of sweeter soju. It finishes feather-light and transitions seamlessly to anything you choose to eat.

Servers in casual black weave swiftly between the standers and the seated, hands always full of smaller plates. They serve food and drink to the seated and the standing, and TBH, skewers might taste better when you're standing.

The Chicken Heart peeks through piles of green onion, tiny tender muscles that pump savory juice into the chambers as you chew. Their seasoning mix is distinct, and they highlighting the flavors without overpowering. They’re not ginger with the ginger; it’s the acid that tempers the fat.

Chicken Skin hangs from the skewers, stiff penants wave a victorious flag of melting fat. Each piece makes a definitive crunch.

The Gizzard is grilled like the rest, but it’s so soft it's it tastes confit. Rivulets of fat sweat slickly down the sides, and we got the last one before they ran out.

The Meatball is their signature skewer. It has to be because there can't be anything better in the world. The ground chicken is so delicate; the small ball stays moist beneath the grill-kissed crisp. A rising sun egg yolk breaks and thickens a tare dip, and it slathers on the meatball like a salty, gooey paint.

We break from the skewers for the Chicken Katsu Sando, a special for the night. A perfect cutlet, battered and fried, the fluffy brick of white bread seduces with a dark n’ sour barbecue sauce.

The Scotch Egg is our heaviest item, and it is a great among the greats. Battered and fried in chicken, it sits lighter than pork, but the stripes of mayo change that for the better. The bed of cabbage beneath isn’t just for show - it catches the egg drippings and tastes like scotch egg cabbage.

We finish with a few shared skewers - we're full but we just can't stop. The meatball gets another go, and we bend the Knee to a craving for cartilage.

The Thyroid is last, a strong suggestion from our server. It's creamy yet supple, with a texture as springy as tendon and a juice that tastes like it was cooked in savory milk.

There is something irresistible about Yardbird, and I can't describe it, but you'll feel it when you're there. The ambiance is unforgettable, and you inevitably soak in the air of playful sophistication. The flavors are serious, yet they flirt with your senses and tease your sensibility. I don't know what got into me that night, but standing at that counter with a skewer was the most fun I’ve had in years.

Yardbird UPDATE - Las Vegas, NV

The most dreaded meal in Las Vegas is brunch. Whether you're nursing a hangover or acclimating to your first day, it's a battle between the drunks and the need-to-get-drunks, and it's so not fun without a reservation.

What I love about Yardbird is that they easily accommodate us all. It's a longer wait for a table, but the bar is where it's at. Service is good, the people are great, and they have the best food for drinking and all its consequences.

I am just getting started, and the Watermelon Sling is my warm-up. Whiskey in the morning is eye-opening, booze-spiked sweet watermelon juice with a lemon slice that makes it pop. Aperol adds some orange, and orange you glad for that sprig rosemary to spice it up?

The sweet tooth wins, and the Maple-Glazed Bacon Doughnuts are a dinner and a dessert. They're fried so fluffy, and the maple is so rich. Sugar goes good with a bacon savor, and the caramel dip is divine.

You don't leave Yardhouse without Lewellyn's Fine Fried Chicken. Get it with any sides you want, but you need that 1/2 bird, and they're so accommodating they let us get just the bottom half...the better half.

The Southern Slaw breaks up the fat and the deep-fried, not that you really want to. I like it a lot more this time around. I'm not sure why, but I'm pretty darn happy with the crispy chicken skin on top as well.

That Chili Watermelon sure is something. Sugar-water fruit with a spicy closing; I love that sharper finish. 

I've only been twice, but Yardbird Vegas is starting to feel like home. I'm comfortable here, whether it's at a table or the bar, and the comfort food puts me in a better place. I never thought I could endorse all-natural 27-hour brined chicken without an eyeroll, but it really does taste that much better. The quality makes a difference, and their prices are fair for the extra effort. I don't know what got into me, but on Yardbird, I really am pretty hooked.

Yardbird - Las Vegas

We just got married!...now what?

We cut so much drama from our lives in a single night, and we're just not exhausted enough. My family flew in from China for the wedding, and they only have a couple days in town. The one thing they want is to see Vegas in all its shining glory, and a day in a rental van with a night at the Luxor doesn't sound so bad to me...

Four hours through the dessert is unpleasant at best, all sizzling, sulking sand with the occasional stubborn shrub. But with Yardbird on the other end, it's WORTH IT.

Intro to southern cooking starts with some Shrimp n' Grits. They do well with the tender jumbo shrimp, and gravelly grits get savored-up with Virginia ham. The PBR chicken jus juts in without intrusion, a pleasurable finish that's not too memorable. I've had grits with true grit, and these are just good enough. 

My cousins live in London, and you'd think people living that close to France wouldn't want for Fries, but they do. They don't want just one order, they want two. Good call, cousins; Yardbird has a way with the taters, and the ranch dressing makes them that much better.

The fries are good, but the Coleslaw is a shame. Dry shreds of cabbage sit in an inadequate puddle with not enough sauce to go around. But the crispy chicken skin on top is even better than cracklin's. They melt with a velvet crunch.

Everything is a mere prequel compared to the main event: the Chicken n' Watermelon n' Waffles that are so much better than any chicken n' watermelon n' waffles you've ever had or will ever have. The chicken is so tender. The whitest, cleanest meat you've ever seen, and even the dark meat shimmers in a beautiful beige. The sauce is awesome, but you don't need the sauce. The batter alone will blow your mind so many times over. The waffle is a crisp cloud with a wispy sweetness and a mild twist of cheesed. And the watermelon. Oh my God, southern by the grace of God. It's cold and ripe, all sugar and water until the chile cuts through. It doesn't burn; it just dances and skims across a sugary tongue. My head is so far into the this plate, I don't even pause for pictures.

I initially scoffed at the idea of all-organic fried chicken. An oxymoron at best, otherwise a contradiction of all that soul food stands for. Except it's not. Soul food is supposed to feed the soul. It reaches a hungry depth, it scratches a deep-down itch, and nothing hits the spot so completely. Yardbird does that and more, but you have to eat it to believe it. Put your money where your mouth is, but be sure to skip straight to the chicken.