On eating something new.

I want to talk to you guys about a sandwich. Lillie's Q in Chicago has a particular item on the menu - the CLT. It's not the sort of thing you walk into Lillie's for the first time and order, because let's face it, when you walk into a BBQ joint of this particular reputation, you want to slather ribs in any one of their amazeballs sauces or cram a tri-tip sandwich into your facehole. And you would be correct to do so.

But on your second go-round, check out the CLT. The description alone was enough to catch my eye: "Chicken Skin Bacon, blah blah, blah blah blah." Chicken skin bacon, you say? My mind flicked immediately to the simple delight skin brings me. From chicharrones to sneaking the skin off a Thanksgiving turkey, that crispy, fat-laced savory burst holds a special place in my cholesterol-choked heart. So when I came back to Lillie's for the second day in a row, naturally I had to order it.

And it was fantastic. Smoked chicken skin fried crispy with a toothsome snap with fresh tomatoes, crisp Bibb lettuce, and a smear of mayo on white bread. It was everything I wanted it to be. And as I chomped my way through bite after bite of this painstakingly simple, yet delicious sandwich, I realized a few simple truths that drove home just how well-run the kitchen here was.

1) Total utilization of product. This is something that's beaten into us from Day 1 in culinary school. Restaurants operate on thin margins, and you never really realize how much it costs to throw shit out until you're shopping for dumpster contracts. Basically, the more you use, the better the situation. Vegetable peels and onion roots go in the stockpot, zested lemons get juiced to make a house vin or a homemade lemonade.

I had the smoked fried chicken the day before (which was a brilliant plate in its own right - you could see how deep the smoke took by the pink in the meat, which had that pillowy texture that only buttermilk can get you BUT I DIGRESS), and I noticed it had been skinned. A fairly common practice, actually - the skin is a well-known slip zone, as anyone who's taken a bite out of a thigh and come away with half the fried knows. So what do you do with all that excess skin? Most places would chuck it, but it turns out you can also smoke it, flattop it, and sell it as a sandwich. Brilliant. Speaking of...

2) Fry it flat. Skin's freakishly delicious, but also notoriously difficult to work with because of all the proteins in it that REALLY want to curl up and ruin your plans for even cooking. Sure, you could work your way around it by dropping it in the deep-fryer, but if you're trying to emulate bacon, you need flat, layered protein to build a sandwich the customer can actually get their mouth around. The chicken skin bacon here was paper-level flat, which implies a big ol' griddle and a weight to ensure the skin was cooked consistently. Food isn't just about what you cook - more often than not, it's how it's cooked that separates the champs from the chumps.

3) Context. When you really want to feature something unique, there's a temptation to pull out all the stops, to serve it with herb-pickled tomatillos, fern greens, and a chipotle aioli on rosemary brioche. Resist that urge. You don't do a side-by-side comparison of a Ford Focus on its way to the supermarket and a Lamborghini Countach driving through a ring of fire while a castle explodes in the background and girls in bikinis applaud underneath. You don't show off your new jeans by wearing them with a ruffled shirt and an LED-laced broadsword on your back. Lose your frame of reference and you lose what makes your idea special. Proper context is exactly what this sandwich does. A ripe, flavorful tomato, some easy-going tender-leafed lettuce, a glob of mayonnaise and good old sliced bread was all the chicken skin bacon needed as backup. And it sang.

Whoever came up with this sandwich was a genius. It's a magnificent idea with a flawless execution, turning an iconic sandwich on its ear with one simple substitution. Well done, Lillie's Q; and to the rest of the eating world, I hope we all learn something from it.