Burn Notice: San Antonio food truck Pete's Hot Chicken brings the heat

Pete's Hot Chicken isn't kidding when it gives you a heat indication. Pete’s Hot Chicken isn’t kidding when it gives you a heat indication. Credit: Instagram / peteshotchicken

Chicken’s a versatile bird.

It can be prepared whole, or dismembered into legs, thighs, breasts, wings and “fingers.” Some cultures even consume the feet and cockscomb. It can be roasted or rotisseried, skewered and grilled, ground and formed into meatballs or slowly simmered with leeks and other aromatics.

But the chicken preparation that’s most captured America’s attention, and no small part of the culinarily colonized world outside our borders, is frying. There are variations involving such ingredients as buttermilk and sweet-tea brine, the motherland of most of them being the South.

In the case of Pete’s Hot Chicken, a food truck now posted up on South Presa Street, the point of origin is Nashville. I’ll spare you the history.

You should probably know, though, that hot in Pete’s case means hot. The menu offers six degrees of intensity, most of which is supplied by a lightly sweetened and lethal chili paste, and unless you are atoning for some truly egregious sin, it’s hard to imagine ordering any chicken dish at a level higher than 4. “Hot — It’s ridiculously spicy,” the menu warns about that level.

On the other hand, it’s equally hard to imagine choosing level 1, or ordering the bird plain. Where’s the fun in that?

My first experience with Pete’s “Hot” level came with the Dirty Bird, a mashup of loaded fries, seriously fried chicken parts, mac and cheese, crumbled bacon and, somewhere in all that, aged cheddar. The upscale mac and cheese is a more sophisticated version than the usual, utilizing shell pasta and a light hand with the cheesy stuff. It would be worth ordering as a separate side.

It’s also a welcome antidote to the craggy and crunchy chicken, which at “Hot” teeters right on the edge of masochism. The buried and heavily seasoned fries are inevitably soggy and seem unnecessary. Maybe if they were piled on top, the story would be different.

I have never been a chicken and waffles fan. Never saw the point. But never have I had them with Nashville-style bird. Having learned my lesson, this time I picked “Medium,” and the combo of crisp waffle and just-spicy-enough chicken in a sandwich really worked. But what truly sealed the deal was the accompanying mix of hot honey and poblano butter. I’d drizzle it over anything, including ice cream. I could, however, do without the dusting of powdered sugar. The honey provided plenty of sweetness.

There’s outdoor seating next to Pete’s yellow food truck, but nobody was in the mood for that kind of heat on any of my visits, so the cool and dark interior beckoned. While waiting for your order, be sure to peruse the display shelves that are the focus of the space. Amongst the awards, including one from the Current’s United We Brunch event, are several books that suggest a chef with, at the very least, an appreciation of the wider world of cuisine.

There are tomes from high-toned places the likes of Chicago’s Alinea and Copenhagen’s Noma and cookbooks from chefs as well-regarded as Thomas Keller. Mexican food doyenne Diana Kennedy’s Oaxaca al Gusto is here as well — along with works by restaurant management guru Danny Meyer and cocktail capo Dave Arnold.

Chicken may be just a stepping stone.

Which prompted me to return to Pete’s for the chicken-fried steak with Akaushi beef. At least the beef choice speaks of aspirations. Know that that Pete’s does a brisk after-church business and that the Sunday-best crowd has an apparent hankering for chicken-fried steak.

For that visit, I arrived at 12:15 p.m., only to find the CFS already sold out. Turns out that the fancy beef is often MIA. On my second try a few days later, the order taker assured me that this was not always the case. I also had to take into consideration that the same server accidentally took my name down as “Bruce” on an earlier visit.

One thing I’ve learned in years of reviewing is that mistakes happen and there’s often a need for a pivot. I subbed a selection of sides for the no-show CFS and wasn’t disappointed. Indeed, the Chili Crisp Sprouts — of the Brussels variety — were almost meaty with their deep char, toasted pepitas and dusting of cotija cheese, all smoothed out with a side serving of chili-lime mayo.

A slaw of finely shredded cabbage with prominent cilantro added slivered poblanos for a subtle, vegetal heat. It would be great alongside the waffle sando.

And red potato salad proved itself cool, tangy and another good chicken companion.

So, the CFS scarcity and other minor deficiencies are forgiven except for one thing: I mean, really, Bruce?