I’ve been eager to visit Full Speed Chicken & Ribs, owned by Scott and Bekke Holmes of Little Miss BBQ first and foremost because I love fried chicken. Who doesn’t? In fact, I went on a fried chicken bender for about a year and a half when I lived near the Lo-Lo’s Chicken & Waffles that opened its first Scottsdale location at Scottsdale and Thomas roads back in 2009. I was there once a week for chicken and waffles or some variation thereof. When they moved to a new freestanding building up the street about five years later, they lost their shine, and I just stopped going, marking the end of my fried chicken obsession (which clearly had something to do with proximity).
That said, my heart skipped a beat when I learned that fried chicken takes up a big chunk of the menu at Full Speed. I figured, given the magic Holmes works on barbecue (especially that fatty brisket), that the chicken would be a slam dunk. I ‘d also recently read that he uses brisket tallow from Little Miss to fry the chicken at Full Speed, which seemed like a good move. I was psyched.
Housed in the Roosevelt Row space formerly occupied by Trapp House (also a ‘cue joint), Full Speed looks surprisingly classy, given that it’s a fast-casual restaurant cranking out homey eats at modest prices. A slender dining room to the right of the entrance is outfitted with comfortable cloth-upholstered booths and Ed Mell lithographs. Impressive. In fact, the restaurant’s name and logo are a nod to Mell’s Full Speed Ahead, a painting depicting a rider (maybe a Pony Express guy?) on a horse.
The menu is pretty straightforward: chicken three ways – chicken quarter (thigh and drumstick), chicken tenders or a chicken sandwich (breast meat on a buttermilk biscuit or a Portuguese bun by Noble). Order a plate and you’ll also get one or two sides. Ditto for ribs, sold by the full rack, half rack or singly. There are a few other options as well – a Southwest salad, green chile chicken biscuit, loaded fries (think mac and cheese and pulled pork) and pimiento cheese with crackers.
The chicken also comes in three heat levels — Southern (no heat), medium or hottie Hot Hot. I’ve tried all three and I’m here to tell you, the Hottie Hot Hot should be called “Holy Crap Hottie Hot Hot” with an exclamation point. It’s flaming, and I’m not wimpy. The sweet young woman who took our order rattled off the chiles that are in it. The two that leapt out at me were habaneros and Carolina Reapers, the latter sitting at the top of the Scoville scale.
My pal ordered her tenders at medium heat, but they weren’t discernibly milder than my Hottie Hot Hots. In fact, both had me longing for a tall, cold glass of milk. The sweet woman behind the counter stopped by to check on us, and when we told her how hot both chicken dishes were, she mused that maybe the heat level was a bit inconsistent from day to day. Seems to me like that should be addressed.
But here’s the more important thing: Once you get past the shock value of that incendiary heat, you ask yourself, “Is this fried chicken good?” And the answer is, “No, not very.” Both the Hottie Hot Hot chicken quarter and the medium chicken tenders taste sweet, and their oddly sandy texture (another friend calls it “gritty”) brings granulated sugar to mind. I’ve never had fried chicken like this in my life, and I don’t mean that in a good way.
To make matters worse, the airily crisp yet strangely greasy skin falls off the chicken in a clump. Fried chicken’s salient feature is its crispy, crunchy, crusty quality, and nobody wants to eat that crispy exterior separately. This falling off phenomenon also happens with the Southern-style fried chicken, which actually needs more or better seasoning (just not chile peppers). There’s also something odd about the interior, which doesn’t look like or have the texture of traditional fried chicken – although no one I’ve talked to can figure out precisely what has happened here. One friend describes the chicken as “nearly inedible.”
The ribs (I tried both the barbecue and the honey hot) are tender and good but barely warmed through. I’m guessing everything is pre-made and heated up. How else to explain that the chicken was ready in under five minutes? Full speed, indeed, which lands them squarely in Popeye’s and KFC territory.
The mac and cheese contained very little macaroni at all and lots of sauce (mostly cream or bechamel, it seemed). It didn’t look baked or browned at all. Meanwhile the beans, chunky with pork, had a vaguely barbecue-y vibe. Is it my imagination, or are both of these sides better at Little Miss? However, the buttermilk biscuit with a browned, faintly crispy top, served with butter and house-made strawberry jam, was brilliant, the one thing I’ve had so far that I absolutely love.
Disappointed mightily by the chicken (which, after all, is in the restaurant’s name), I grabbed a buddy, and we headed out to Lolo’s Chicken & Waffles and Gus’s World-Famous Fried Chicken for a little taste comparison. This after just hitting up Full Speed for its Southern fried chicken version. My pal also believes that Lo-Lo’s has slipped since its expansion, but we headed to the Downtown Phoenix location anyway for the sake of research.
And you know what? It was remarkably good. Or is my assessment based on the remarkably bad chicken that came before it? I still love Lo-Lo’s flavorful breading (I think there might be a little garlic and cayenne in there), and the chicken has the golden-brown look and crunchy texture of the good old fashioned Southern fried chicken I grew up on. A tiny bit of the breading came off (which my buddy groused about) but not to the degree it did at Full Speed. It was wonderfully crunchy without being greasy. Inside, the juicy meat looked like fried chicken ought to. That chicken, anointed with a few drops of Tabasco and eaten with a syrup-drizzled waffle was Heaven. It took me back.
Next stop, Gus’s — which always requires a wait because the chicken is made to order. The bird, a little reddish from the seasoning, comes out piping hot, ultra-crunchy outside and juicy within. In fact, my first bite brought a waft of steam and a big old spurt of hot juice.
Gus’s is a Tennessee-based fried chicken chain with 40 locations, but you can’t deny — 40 locations or no — they do a fabulous and remarkably consistent job. It only comes one way: spicy but do-able. I like it a lot.
Their mac and cheese falls somewhere between the versions at Full Speed and LoLo’s in terms of creaminess, which is to say, it’s just right. It tastes a bit like Velveeta, which is fine, just slightly less sophisticated than the other two versions, which taste like they’re made with cheese blends.
Our mini roundup confirmed one thing: Full Speed needs to slow down and critically assess what’s working and what isn’t — namely, the chicken. At this juncture, it’s pretty half-assed.
Full Speed Chicken & Ribs, 513 E Roosevelt St., Phoenix, 602-237-5292, eatfullspeed.com
