Huey Long’s famous campaign slogan once promised voters a chicken in every pot but lately I’ve stumbled on a couple of places where even the Kingfish himself would be surprised to find chicken cooking. Or frying, to be precise.

Few Southern dishes are more universal than fried chicken. Locally, we’re used to getting chicken from little joints and walk-up windows in our neighborhoods, from grocery stores and even from some top flight, albeit casual, restaurants like Jacque Imo’s in Carrollton. But how about finding a quick five piece in an abandoned and all-but-boarded up bakery? Or getting a plate of fried chicken and butter beans amidst lace curtains and candlelight in a businessman’s lunch spot in the Central Business District?

Come with me.

First, there’s McKenzie’s Chicken in a Box. It’s the same McKenzie’s brand name that adorned what had been the largest bakery in New Orleans, now dearly departed, R.I.P., sob, whimper, sigh. The petit fours, turtles and glazed donuts are all gone but the one survivor from McKenzie’s provincial empire is the oddest link in the old chain, its one and only fried chicken joint. And they’re still doing a bang-up business from their location here in Gentilly, at the corner of Frenchmen and Foy streets and close to Dillard University.

The Entringer family, which originally opened McKenzie’s in the 1920s on Prytania Street, closed the whole company down in 2000 after one too many tustles with state regulators. New investors quickly bought the shuttered company from them and reopened about half the stores, only to close it all down again about a year later in bankruptcy. But the Entringer’s held on to the Chicken in a Box and now this is the last stand for McKenzie’s, even if most people never associated the name with fried chicken.

Now, to get to the chicken you must go through what had been one of McKenzie’s larger bake shops. Patrons walking to the counter pass by empty bakery cases and barren racks. McKenzie’s cake boxes are still stacked in the corner.

The name Chicken in a Box reflects the same plain dealing marketing strategy McKenzie’s bakeries used for so many years. They sell fried chicken, served in a box. With the exception of French fries they offer nothing else. The menu simply lists the prices for variously sized orders in increments of five pieces. This place is the picture of simplicity: they don’t have ketchup for the fries nor do they even have napkins for the box-staining chicken. Any drinks come from a soda machine in the corner that is labeled Continental Cola but is stocked with the more familiar Coca-Cola brands. Naturally, service is take-out only, though they have a few folding metal chairs lined up for people waiting on large orders.

All this equals low overhead, which is evident in the prices. The standard five piece order of chicken is $2.69 before tax. French fries cost 70 cents.

The chicken is not only a bargain, it is also very good. The batter is thick and highly seasoned, though not at all spicy. The size of the chicken breast pieces will not impress anyone—an A cup at best—but the meat is still juicy. The fries are run of the mill but due to deeply ingrained McKenzie’s name associations I can’t eat them without wondering what they might taste like covered in a sugar glaze or dipped in chocolate like their donuts of yore.

Service at the small counter is exceptionally fast. Anyone who has stood in a big fast food chicken chain with receipt in hand waiting for the next batch to cook will be amazed at how quickly the orders are filled here.

Now take everything I just wrote about McKenzie’s Chicken in a Box, turn it around 360 degrees, spin it a few more times just to be sure and then throw it all up in the air. The result will come close to the difference between it and another unexpected place for fried chicken, the House of Popagee.

People familiar with the CBD might recognize this restaurant as the pink building on South Rampart Street standing amid a sea of parking lots with the slogan “Mississippi Fried Chicken” prominently displayed on its facade.

It’s common for newcomers drawn in by this sign to stop in their tracks once they first step inside. The interior is not at all what you’d expect. White lace curtains veil the windows, a grand, saloon style bar dominates the front room and candles burn on silver candelabrums on end tables. In the second room, baroque style chairs line a long table for 12 that would not look out of place at a joust or baronial banquet.

But for all that, there’s no formality or stiffness here. The bartender greets people warmly and the waitresses are familial even with first-time guests. Of course, the menu is reassuring as well. They have a short list of po-boys and some daily specials but the real draw is the fried chicken, fried catfish or ribs, all served with an assortment of traditional sides like red beans, butter beans, baked macaroni and potato salad.

The fried chicken is a Mississippi recipe that goes light on the batter and heavy on the seasoning. If the batter were any thinner, the chicken could pass for baked. Still, the chicken comes piping hot and juicy beneath this crisp layer. Some of the side dishes shine, especially the butter beans which have a slightly tangy bite to them and plenty of meat mixed in. The ribs are not extraordinary but the catfish plate is the most generous serving on the menu with three plump and fresh tasting filets. The cornbread, not listed on the menu but go ahead and ask anyway, is soft and moist. Prices range from $6 for chicken with red beans to $8 for ribs or fish with three sides.

On most weekdays they have a lunchtime bar special of 49-cent martinis, which are deftly mixed and not at all skimpy. The list of beverages also includes Kool Aid in grape or strawberry flavors.

That’s one of the numerous contradictions to this restaurant, which is dressed up nicely but at its heart is a casual, down home joint. Patrons pay at a register by the door, where they also have candy bars for sale, cafeteria style, and the Sweet ‘N Low packets are kept on the tables in sushi take-out cartons. But I defy anyone to find a place besides the House of Popagee that stakes its reputation on fried chicken but also keeps its restrooms stocked with back issues of Architectural Digest magazine and bottles of cologne and aftershave.