Tremendous Chicken Schnitzel

Schnitzel. SCHNITZEL! We are going to Austria, we are going to Germany, we are going EVERYWHERE on a single plate — I have eaten schnitzel in beautiful little towns you cannot even pronounce, cobblestones, old men playing accordions, very charming, the food is excellent, the WiFi is a nightmare — and I have come back to my own kitchen and built something BETTER. Better than what they're doing over there. Hard to believe. But true. It's just a fact.

The secret — and most chefs get this WRONG, they pound the chicken once with a sad little mallet and call it a day, a disgrace to the cutlet — is THIN. Thin like a piece of paper. Thin like the patience of a hungry man at a slow restaurant. Pound the chicken until it's whisper-thin, bread it with seasoned crumbs, then shallow-fry it in a LOT of butter and oil. A LOT. Don't be shy. Shy people don't make schnitzel. Shy people make sad lunch.

What comes out is HUGE. The schnitzel hangs off the plate. The schnitzel ASSERTS DOMINANCE over the plate. The schnitzel says hello, I am here, I am the meal, you will respect me. The neighbor who taught me this lived to be 102 years old — could be a coincidence, probably not, you tell me. People come up to me on the street, tough guys, with tears in the eyes, they say, 'Bigly, this schnitzel is bigger than my head.' Yes it is. That's the point. That has always been the point. Hands down.

Hot lemon squeeze, parsley on top, serve it with potato salad, with buttered noodles, with more schnitzel — schnitzel goes with schnitzel, it's the only ingredient that pairs perfectly with itself, very few foods can claim that, I've checked — and the family eats it, and they go quiet, and that's how you know. Quiet families are happy families. The schnitzel does that. The schnitzel ALWAYS does that. Save me a piece.