The Manhattan Times

I’m a sucker for anything that purports to be the “world’s greatest” anything – especially if it’s cheap.

That’s why for the last month I’ve been thinking about the white cardboard sign hung in the window of New Caporal Fried Chicken on Broadway and W. 157th Street. I spied it in early December after Community League of the Heights lit its Christmas tree. The sign read: “World’s best chicken sandwich: $2.00” in black marker.

There are so many contradictions with this sign. If my chicken sandwich were elevated to the height of “world’s best” you’d better believe the sign would be bigger and not just in marker. Then there’s the price, $2 is great for a humble sandwich, but world’s greatest?

The comedy of this unassuming sign with a big message drew me in.

My first “world’s best” in the city was in 2000 while as a tourist in Times Square.

I can picture the sign even today: a big, bright red neon apple with the words “World’s best coffee” glowing welcomingly from a dive diner. It was certainly not the world’s best – I’m not sure a coffee lover would have even considered it coffee given the semi-solid state it was in when it sloshed into my cup.

My first “world famous” Inwood dining experience was prompted by a 1-train ride to the W. 207th Street police impound lot. One of the most frustrating reasons to find yourself in Inwood is to retrieve your car from this lot. But this gloomy trip perked up when I saw Jimbo’s “world famous” hamburgers from the elevated train. Since street cleaning in my neighborhood would last another hour, I decided to stop on in at Jimbo’s for a whack at a world famous.

It was a hamburger, just a fast food hamburger. Not terrible, but nothing world famous there.

If you think these two previous experiences might have tempered my anticipation for the world’s best chicken sandwich, you would be wrong. In fact, I made a special trip.

New Caporal Fried Chicken is a wonderful experience by itself – sans sandwich.

A local landmark, around for more than 30 years, there is nothing new about it. From the gun-toting cowboy chicken logo to the lighted awning lined with colored Times Square-esque lights, it is deliciously old.

Inside, the cooks, bank of deep fryers and oven are all protected by scuffed-up bulletproofed glass and there is less than a shoulders-width of space to stand in. I was constantly pressing my back up against the glass as delivery men wheeled in cases of soda to the back room, which I assume is also bulletproof.

“One chicken sandwich,” I asked through the glass.

Immediately I chided myself for not saying “world’s best,” but if there were two chicken sandwiches to be had, who would order the other one?

Muffled by the glass, the cook asked if I wanted coleslaw and sauce. I think. I said no coleslaw – and saw him say something to another cook to the right. Then I saw my chicken breast slide into a microwave.

As I waited I read the articles from the New York Post and Daily News about New Corporal’s box of fried chicken, but interestingly enough each left out the world’s best chicken sandwich.

With my sandwich wrapped in paper, a paper bag and a plastic bag, I hopped back onto the train, my mouth salivating.

It was a chicken fried chicken breast on a sesame seed bun, with a mustard and mayo sauce. The fact that it was heated up in a microwave oven didn’t phase me. The bread was soft, and chewy, and the breading on the chicken had a ton of flavor. Other chicken sandwiches, like my wife’s favorite spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy’s, is a patty – smooth to the bite, bearing very little resemblance to the actual chicken it came from. Chomping into the New Corporal sandwich is very different. The chicken is still chicken, all lumps and bumps. The salt and pepper from the breading hits your tongue, followed by the juice from the meat – all mixing with the bun and sauce. I could have gone for a second one, so I must have liked the first one. However, unless this particular sandwich went terribly wrong, I think the world’s best moniker might have been misapplied to this sandwich.

After the coffee, hamburger and chicken sandwich failed to live up to their hyperbolic reputations, I know I should temper my excitement for my next world’s best encounter. But I know I won’t.