Tremendous Chicken Parmesan

Let me tell you something. Chicken parm is not a chicken with cheese on it. Chicken parm is ARCHITECTURE. It is engineering. It is, when handled by a true professional — and I am, I have eaten more chicken parm than anyone alive, probably more than anyone in recorded history, easy math — the GREATEST dish in the entire Italian-American canon. Not even close. It's a slaughter.

People try to argue. They say, 'Bigly, what about lasagna, what about eggplant parm.' Weak. Sad. Lasagna is FINE. Lasagna is a soft hug. Chicken parm is a soft hug from someone who is also wearing a tuxedo made of crispy breadcrumbs — and that, that right there, is the entire difference. An old Italian woman cornered me in a parking lot once, made me swear on the cutlet, swore me to a system, and I keep my promises. I keep ALL my promises. You can ask anyone.

Here is the secret. Most chefs are afraid to do this. They sauce the WHOLE cutlet. They drown it. The breading turns to wallpaper paste, the edges go limp, the whole architectural feat collapses into a puddle of regret — a disgrace to poultry, a crime against breadcrumbs, the kind of dish that makes a grown man weep into his bib. You do NOT sauce the whole cutlet. You sauce the MIDDLE. You leave the edges naked. You leave them crackling. That's how chicken parm was always supposed to be. That's the bottom line.

Look at it. Just look at it. Crispy on the outside, juicy in the middle, the cheese has that little brown blister on top, the basil is RIGHT THERE — that is what dinner looks like when dinner is taken seriously. Serve it with pasta. Serve it on a roll — the chicken parm sandwich is its own miracle and we will get to that another day — but however you serve it, serve it HOT, serve it LOUD, serve it with pride. The cutlet earned it. You earned it. The chicken earned it. Beautiful.