The fried chicken battle is a serious game to play. There are the ever-present franchises, Nashville Hot Chicken joints, brick and mortars that strictly specialize in wings, whether Buffalo style or double-fried Korean, and finally, ma and pa joints like Grandma used to make.

To enter any category, you can't only talk-the-talk; you have to walk-the-walk. And Chokey Chicken does.

The low rent, greasy as hell, fast food dream is a time warp back in the 80s with awful in-your-face advertisements. But, one doesn't go to Chokey's for the ambiance. They go for the chicken.

And surprisingly, the chicken is a nice balance between gourmet and supply chain corporate goodness. Every piece brines for 12 hours, then sits overnight, bathing a first layer of breading. Before the legs and things hit the fry, a second coat is applied. This is how the dredge really clings to the skin. A sturdy shell reminiscent of the thickness that goes hand in hand with fish and chips. And creates the ubiquitous crunch one hears with each bizarrely satisfying bite. The time between the fryer, heat lamps, and wax paper-lined plastic tray, the chicken is tossed in additional rendered fat. You taste the grease killing you ever so slowly.

And if the chicken doesn't kill you, it will only make you stronger, just like the sugary soft drinks, guaranteed to have 20 percent more sugar than your usual juices and sodas.

Long live Chokey Chicken.