Growing up in greater Cleveland, one of our mainstay weeknight meals was city chicken. My mom coated cubes of pork and veal, already threaded together at the grocery store, with a mixture of canned breadcrumbs and Lawry’s Seasoned Salt (a go-to in our family). She’d pan-fry the skewers and bake them in the oven for at least an hour — with no gravy, though I’d later find out that’s often the standard accompaniment. The dish was something my mom made regularly, and served in our rotation alongside tacos, baked chicken, and stuffed peppers.
It never occurred to me that this might be a unique (or at least local) event until I didn’t see city chicken outside of Ohio for another 15 years. I’d describe it to friends, and they’d have no idea what I was talking about. My description probably wasn’t helping matters: “You know, it’s breaded, kind of a meat-on-a-stick thing. Oh — and it isn’t actually chicken. ”.
Bring it up to a Clevelander, though, and odds are they’ll know exactly what you’re talking about. “The interesting thing about city chicken to me was that growing up in Cleveland, it didn’t matter what nationality you were, everybody made city chicken,” says Michael Symon, Cleveland’s most famous chef. “My [Italian] mom made Sunday sauce, and not everyone made that. But everyone made city chicken. ”.
City Chicken has roots in Pittsburgh and Cleveland, where large Polish and Ukrainian immigrant communities live. Other Great Lakes cities, like Detroit and Buffalo, don’t have as many of these communities. City Chicken began during the Great Depression, when chicken was harder to find and cost more. Made then with pork, veal, or a combination of the two, the meats were cubed and then threaded onto skewers, then breaded to create a drumstick-like shape to better resemble chicken.
Preparations then and now vary slightly in style. Usually the meat is breaded with flour and breadcrumbs (traditional rather than panko, as Mike Sokolowski of Cleveland institution Sokolowski’s University Inn, which has been open since 1923, stresses). Some restaurants deep-fry the skewers, while others pan-fry them, before placing them in a hot oven and cooking them for 60 to 90 minutes. Brown gravy is an optional topping.
So how did the pork or veal dish get its misleading name? “It was called ‘chicken’ because chicken was once more expensive and more desirable; families would have a chicken for Sunday dinner,” says Barbara Johnstone, a professor of rhetoric and linguistics at Carnegie Mellon University and author of the book Speaking Pittsburghese. City chicken was one of many fake chicken products that were popular during the Great Depression. Other fake chicken products may have been made from ground meat, for example. “It’s hard to imagine anybody was actually fooled,” Johnstone says. “Pork producers now sell their product as ‘the other white meat,’ also an allusion to chicken. But now, that’s because chicken is thought to be healthier than pork, rather than because it is more expensive. ”.
City chicken remained relatively popular the longer veal prices stayed in check. But in today’s era of high veal prices, it’s hard to imagine a time when veal was cheaper than omnipresent chicken. Catherine Lambrecht of the Greater Midwestern Foodways Alliance notes that years ago, butchering veal was often a way to thin a herd of bulls. “Once animal husbandry practices allowed sorting the sperm to elevate the chances of females over males, veal increased in price and no longer was an economical food,” she says.
Since veal prices have soared over the past few decades, city chicken made with veal or a mixture of meats can be tough to track down — and city chicken itself has sadly declined in popularity and presence. Sokolowski’s, Cleveland’s oldest family restaurant, is known for its cafeteria-style Polish, American, and Eastern European specialties, and it has served city chicken for more than 20 years — but now only offers its version made with pork.
Cooks who want to make the dish at home now have to turn to speciality butchers to find it sold pre-cubed and threaded onto sticks — and even then it’s usually the all-pork version. “Years ago, the chain stores used to sell it, but it’s become a slow item for them, and it doesn’t move, so they quit carrying it,” says Tom Friday, owner of Pittsburgh’s Tom Friday’s Market. “So it’s kind of rare to see it in a [traditional grocery] store.” All-pork city chicken retails at Friday’s for $3.99 per pound. Special-order it with the veal/pork mixture, and that raises the price to $7.99 per pound, he says.
While Great Lakes Region natives might remember city chicken as a household staple growing up, it doesn’t always draw the kind of reverence that some other regional dishes seem to capture. Symon tends to celebrate just about any Cleveland-specific food (just get him started on kielbasa or pierogi). But ask him about city chicken? He knows it, but it doesn’t elicit passion. “When my mom made lasagna, I was excited. Sunday sauce, I was very excited. City chicken — ‘Oh, I guess we’re having city chicken.’ I didn’t dislike it, but it didn’t get me quite as excited as other dishes.”
That didn’t stop Symon from trying to put upscale versions of city chicken on his restaurant menus. Symon has built up a reputation in Cleveland for putting his own spin on regional dishes (the popular beef cheek pierogi at his restaurant Lola is one example). But city chicken, which Symon offered at Lola 20 years ago, was one of his early failures. He tried everything to make the dish work: using heritage pork, experimenting with different cuts. “We did it with butts, we did it with loins, we did it with belly. It couldn’t sell,” he says, noting that diners seemed uninterested in paying restaurant premiums for such a humble dish. “People were like, ‘What are you, insane?’ If I ever opened up a cool diner, I bet I could sell it by the bushel.”
Symon isn’t the only chef to flirt with a high-end version of the dish. Several years ago, Pittsburgh’s Tender Bar + Kitchen served herb-breaded city chicken as a Restaurant Week appetizer (owner Jeff Catalina remembers it as “ridiculously good,” but never brought it back after that — and the restaurant recently closed its doors). The Summit in Pittsburgh’s Mt. Washington neighborhood currently offers it on the menu prepared with grilled pork loin, served with accents like butternut squash, pierogi, braised cabbage, and peach mustardo. Twenty years after Lola couldn’t sell the dish for $15, that’s what it retails for at the Summit.
But most restaurants who count city chicken as a top seller tend to be more homestyle, casual joints, like Sokolowski’s or Erie, Pennsylvania’s Pittsburgh Inn. At the Pittsburgh Inn, it’s a Tuesday night special that has been on the menu for more than 20 years; each week, they make 25 to 30 orders and usually sell out.
“So many people have never heard of it — they’re surprised when we tell them it’s not even chicken,” says Pittsburgh Inn owner Robin Weunski. “When out of town people come in here, they’re just blown away when we tell them the story.” Even those who grew up with the dish don’t always know exactly what they’re eating. Symon himself admits he didn’t find out the dish wasn’t chicken until much later in life. But it’s nostalgia that keeps people coming back to city chicken. “It reminds them of their childhood,” Weunski says. “I think that’s the big thing.”
Now that, years later, I’ve finally found a random, suburban Virginia butcher who carries city chicken (all pork, no veal, sadly), I’m able to introduce my own friends to this homey, slightly strange menu item from childhood. It’s a built-in conversation piece to tell them: “You know, this isn’t actually chicken we’re eating.” The history spills out from there.
Missy Frederick is Eater’s associate cities editor and a fried pickle enthusiast. Laura Watilo Blake is an internationally published, award-winning photographer and journalist; she is also the photo editor for Edible Cleveland magazine and chief exploration officer for the website FarFlungTravels.com.
Hey there, food lovers! Ever stumbled across a dish called city chicken and scratched your head wondering, “Wait a dang minute, this ain’t chicken at all!”? Well, you’re not alone I remember the first time I bit into this crispy, savory skewer at a family reunion in Ohio, thinking I’d get poultry, only to taste somethin’ else entirely Turns out, city chicken is a total imposter—a delicious one, made from pork or veal, not a feather in sight. So, why the heck do they call it city chicken? Let’s dig into this vintage Midwest mystery and uncover the story behind the name, plus a whole lotta tasty history.
The Big Reveal: Why “City Chicken” Ain’t Chicken
Right off the bat let’s answer the burning question why do they call it city chicken when there’s no cluckin’ bird in the recipe? The name’s a bit of a head-scratcher but it boils down to a mix of history and clever marketing from way back when. In the early 1900s, especially in urban spots like Cleveland and Pittsburgh, real chicken was kinda a luxury. Folks didn’t just pop to the store for a pack of drumsticks—chickens were mostly raised for eggs, and eating ‘em was saved for special Sundays or holidays. Pork and veal, on the other hand, were cheaper and easier to come by in city markets, especially with immigrant communities stretching every penny during tough times.
So, cooks got crafty. They’d take cubes of pork or veal, skewer ‘em up to look like chicken legs, bread ‘em, fry ‘em, and voilà—a mock chicken dish that tasted close enough to fool ya. The “city” part likely comes from its popularity in urban areas where these meats were more available than farm-fresh poultry. Some old-timers reckon the name mighta been a way to make the dish sound fancier, like somethin’ sophisticated city folk would eat, rather than plain ol’ country fare. Whatever the exact reason, the name stuck, and now it’s a beloved throwback in the Great Lakes region.
A Trip Back in Time: The Roots of City Chicken
Now that we know the name, let’s go back to the beginning of city chicken. Imagine that it’s the early 1900s and large groups of Polish and Ukrainian people are moving into close-knit neighborhoods in cities like Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Detroit, and Buffalo. They brought their cooking skills from the old country, but they had to use what they could find here. Back then, especially before and during the Great Depression, money was tighter than a pickle lid after the season.
Compare that to today, and veal was very cheap. Farmers often sold young calves to thin their herds, and it was easy to get pork scraps at city butchers. Chicken, though? That was a treat, not an everyday meal. That’s why these smart cooks started making their cheaper meats look and taste like the expensive stuff. They would put pieces on wooden sticks and sometimes shape them to look like drumsticks. Then they would coat the sticks in flour and breadcrumbs to make them crispy and golden. It was crazy smart—a way to save money and still serve a hearty meal.
As early as the 1920s, this dish was written about in local newspapers and cookbooks. It was often called ” mock chicken.” “By 1926, some records from upstate New York called it “city chicken.” It caught on quickly with people of all backgrounds, especially in Cleveland. It didn’t matter if you were Polish, Italian, or something else—everyone made it their own. If the grandmother was Italian, she might serve it with a tangy red sauce instead of the thick brown gravy. It was comfort food at its best, no matter how you dressed it up.
A Cultural Stick of Goodness
When it comes to roots, city chicken is more than just a recipe. It’s a piece of history. If you have Polish or Ukrainian roots, you may have heard it called “patyczki” or “patychky,” which in those languages means “stick.” It’s a nod to the sticks that hold everything together. But it’s funny that you won’t find this dish in Poland or Ukraine. It was made in the Midwest by immigrants who were creative and needed to make something.
Growin’ up, I’d hear tales from older folks ‘round Pittsburgh about how city chicken was a Sunday staple, somethin’ you’d whip up to feed a crowd without breakin’ the bank. It’s still got a special place in those communities today, especially at family gatherings or in old-school diners where the menu hasn’t changed since Eisenhower was in office. Heck, walk into some hole-in-the-wall joint in Cleveland, and you might still see it listed, served up with mashed taters and a side of nostalgia.
How Do Ya Make City Chicken? Let’s Get Cookin’
Alright, enough history—let’s talk about gettin’ this dish on your plate. Makin’ city chicken is easier than ya might think, and it’s a fun way to channel those old-timey kitchen vibes. Traditionally, it’s pork or veal, or a mix of both, but these days, most folks stick to pork ‘cause veal’s gotten pricier. I’m gonna share a basic way to do it, straight from memories of watchin’ my auntie fry these up. No fancy stuff, just good eats.
What You’ll Need:
- Pork cubes (or veal if ya feelin’ fancy)—about 1.5 to 2 pounds, cut into 1-inch chunks.
- Wooden skewers—soak ‘em in water for 30 minutes so they don’t burn.
- Eggs—2 or 3, beaten for dippin’.
- Breadcrumbs—a couple cups, seasoned with salt, pepper, and maybe some garlic powder.
- Flour—a bit for dredgin’, ‘bout half a cup.
- Oil—for fryin’, enough to get a good sizzle goin’.
- Salt and pepper—to taste, don’t skimp.
Quick Steps to City Chicken Glory
| Step | What to Do |
|---|---|
| 1 | Thread them pork or veal cubes onto your skewers, packin’ ‘em tight. Aim for 4-5 pieces per stick. If ya wanna get cute, shape ‘em like a lil’ drumstick. |
| 2 | Set up a dredgin’ station: one plate with flour, one bowl with beaten eggs, and one with breadcrumbs. Season each a tad. |
| 3 | Roll each skewer in flour first, then dip in egg, and coat with breadcrumbs. Press ‘em in good so it sticks. |
| 4 | Heat up oil in a big skillet—medium-high, ya want it hot but not smokin’. Fry the skewers ‘til they’re golden brown on all sides, ‘bout 3-4 minutes per side. |
| 5 | If they ain’t cooked through, pop ‘em in a 350°F oven for 15-20 minutes to finish. Serve hot with gravy or whatever ya like. |
Pro Tip: If fryin’ ain’t your thing, you can bake ‘em from the start at 375°F for about 40 minutes, turnin’ halfway. They won’t be as crispy, but still dang tasty.
I gotta say, the smell of these sizzlin’ in the pan takes me right back to chilly fall evenings, sittin’ at the kitchen table waitin’ for dinner. We’d pair ‘em with mashed potatoes and some overcooked green beans—classic Midwest style. What’s your go-to side? Lemme know, I’m always up for new ideas!
Why City Chicken Still Matters
Ya might be wonderin’, with real chicken so cheap and easy to grab now, why bother with a fake version? Well, for a lotta folks, city chicken ain’t just food—it’s a connection to the past. It’s ‘bout rememberin’ the grit and creativity of our grandparents, who could turn scraps into a feast. In places like Pittsburgh and Cleveland, it’s a badge of regional pride, kinda like cheesesteaks in Philly or deep-dish in Chicago. It’s our thing, ya know?
Plus, there’s somethin’ special ‘bout the process. Skewerin’ the meat, breadin’ it up, fryin’ it just right—it’s hands-on, a labor of love. I’ve made it with my cousins durin’ holidays, laughin’ over how uneven our “drumsticks” look, and it’s them moments that stick with ya more than the flavor. Though, lemme tell ya, the flavor ain’t bad neither.
Mock Meats and More: City Chicken’s Cousins
City chicken ain’t the only dish playin’ dress-up. Back in the day, folks got real creative when times were tough. There was “mock duck,” often made from beef or lamb bits, shaped to trick ya into thinkin’ it was the real deal. Cookbooks from the Depression era are full of these kinda recipes—ways to make a little go a long way. Ever heard of mock apple pie? It’s got no apples, just crackers and sugar syrup, but somehow it works. I tried it once, and, well, let’s just say I’ll stick to city chicken.
These dishes remind us how resourceful people can be. In the Midwest especially, where winters are brutal and money was often tight, every scrap had a purpose. My great-aunt used to tell me stories of makin’ do with whatever was in the pantry, and I reckon that spirit’s baked into every bite of city chicken.
Where Can Ya Find City Chicken Today?
If ya ain’t up for cookin’, don’t worry—city chicken’s still kickin’ around if ya know where to look. Head to the Great Lakes area, and check out old diners or family-run joints in towns like Cleveland or Pittsburgh. Some butcher shops even sell pre-made skewers, ready to fry up at home. I’ve seen ‘em at church potlucks too, sittin’ proud next to the Jell-O salads and hotdish casseroles. It’s like a lil’ piece of history on a stick.
If you’re nowhere near the Midwest, you might gotta make it yourself. But hey, that’s half the fun! Grab some pork, get the family involved, and make a mess in the kitchen. Trust me, it’s worth it for the stories you’ll tell later.
Switchin’ It Up: Modern Takes on City Chicken
While I’m a sucker for the classic recipe, there’s room to play with city chicken in today’s kitchen. Some folks swap pork for ground turkey to lighten it up, though purists might roll their eyes at that. Others get wild with seasonings—think Cajun spice or a lil’ Italian herb mix in the breadcrumbs. I’ve even tried dippin’ ‘em in a spicy honey glaze after fryin’, and lemme tell ya, it’s a game-changer.
Here’s a few ideas to tweak it your way:
- Go Spicy: Add some cayenne or hot sauce to the egg wash for a kick.
- Get Cheesy: Mix grated Parmesan into the breadcrumbs for extra umph.
- Sauce It Up: Instead of plain gravy, whip up a creamy mushroom sauce to drizzle over.
What’s cool is how this dish adapts. It started as a budget meal, but now it’s whatever ya want it to be. Got a twist on city chicken? I’m all ears—hit me with your best shot.
Why We Keep Comin’ Back to City Chicken
At the end of the day, city chicken’s more than just a quirky name or a clever trick. It’s a taste of resilience, a reminder of folks who made magic outta nothin’. For me, it’s sittin’ at a creaky dining table in Cleveland, passin’ around a platter of these skewers while the grown-ups argued over politics and us kids snuck extra helpings. It’s the kinda food that fills your belly and your heart, ya know?
In a world where we can get real chicken nuggets delivered in 20 minutes, takin’ the time to make city chicken feels like a lil’ rebellion. It’s sayin’, “Hey, I’m gonna do it the old way, ‘cause it means somethin’.” And if ya ask me, that’s worth every minute spent fiddlin’ with a skewer.
So, next time you’re hankerin’ for somethin’ different, give city chicken a whirl. Dig into the history, fry up a batch, and share it with someone ya love. You’ll see why they call it city chicken—and why it’s stuck around for so long. Got memories of this dish, or just wanna chat food? Drop a comment below, I’d love to hear your take!
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You Won’t Believe What Polish City Chicken Really Is!
FAQ
Why do they call city chicken chicken?
Edit: The name comes from using off cuts of meat to fake a “drumstick” like you would get from a chicken. Poultry farms were largely in rural areas whereas slaughter houses for pigs and beef were generally in the city, hence “city” chicken. (Chickens were generally slaughtered on farms and eaten fresh. ).
Is city chicken a Pittsburgh thing?
Pittsburgh has all but claimed the dish, though recipes for it have emerged in cities in the Midwest, such as Cleveland, Detroit, and Youngstown, OH.
Where did the big city chicken come from?
The first references to city chicken appeared in newspapers and cookbooks just prior to and during the Depression Era in a few cities such as Pittsburgh. City chicken is typically a makeshift drumstick fashioned from meat scraps by skewering them. It was a working-class food item.
Where is city chicken from?
During the Great Depression, Polish and Ukrainian people living in the Great Lakes region came up with the recipe for City Chicken. It looks like chicken drumsticks because it is made with cubes of pork or veal that are breaded, skewered, and then fried or baked.