One thing that distinguishes humans from animals is that we use cutlery

After spending an afternoon seeing the sights in the greater Starved Rock area in the rain, we convoyed to the nearby town of Ladd, Illinois for supper at Rip’s Tavern. I was told that they have THE BEST fried chicken I’ve ever eaten and that a trip to Rip’s (or is it R.I.P.?) is a MUST anytime I’m out Utica-way.

Now I’m always up for good food and hanging with friends, but to me, hearing about the best fried chicken I’ve ever eaten is about as exciting as hearing about the most exciting hangnail I’ve ever seen. It’s not that I can’t stand chicken — I enjoy a good piece of chicken cordon bleu as much as the next guy (the lightly breaded stuff in which the chicken basically serves as bread for a ham and Swiss cheese sandwich). I’ve even ordered a boneless chicken sandwich upon occasion. But fried chicken on the bone just isn’t civilized. There’s the grease to begin with, but beyond that, the thought of chewing my way around bones and sinews and blood vessels and fat and gristle … But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I was told that we had to get to Rip’s just as it opened or we’d have to stand in line for hours. We arrived just after 4:30 and the place was already half filled. As near as I could tell, the menu offered two choices — a quarter dark meat or a quarter light meat. I ordered light. We shared several pitchers of creamy root beer and a pile of fried mushrooms while we waited for our food

They make fried chicken, fried mushrooms, fried potatoes and — apparently having run out of things to fry — fried nothing. This last item is known as “crispies.” It’s a bowl of tiny bits of fried breading that I was told to pile on a dill pickle slice. Our waitress carried all nine orders of chicken out at one time. Mine was plopped in front of me — a hunk of grease about the size of my head, with fries on the side.

It was about this time that I noticed a lack of silverware. Are you kidding me?!? My friends were already neck deep into their chicken, so I figured I better get started. I pulled on a protruding piece and yanked out a bone. Already I had enough grease on my fingers to fry another whole chicken in, so I used my first napkin. Another pull, another bone, another napkin. Another … And so it went. I soon had a large pile of bones on one side and a large pile of crumpled, greasy napkins on the other. And I had yet to take a bite of chicken. I was increasingly become an object of ridicule among my less-civilized companions. There were no more protruding parts to pull on. I just had a wad of chicken the size of a softball and there was nothing to do about it but thrust my fingers into it and pull. That’s when a friend thought to tell me that the meat was hot.

I finally managed to separate a hunk of meat the size of my fist. I took a bite — it tasted like chicken. There was nothing for me to do at this point but to proceed with the determination of a marathon runner. I pulled and ripped and tore and bit and soon managed to down most of it. There almost weren’t enough napkins. When I’d eaten enough to be considered sociable, I pushed my plate aside. Another friend couldn’t take it. He reached over and picked at the skeleton until there wasn’t a bit of meat remaining.

A line was indeed forming in the entry, so we paid (about $9/person including tip) and left. (In spite of everything, I’d had a riot.) We walked up the street in the rain to Torri’s Ice Cream. The building has been around a long time. The walls and ceiling were covered in pressed tin and the fixtures were hardwood. I ordered a Boston shake, something I’d never heard of before. It’s a sundae built on top of a shake. I got a chocolate shake with raspberry ripple ice cream. It was tasty, and, best thing of all, they gave us utensils.

If you don’t mind dismembering fowl with your bare hands and wading though puddles of grease, and if you find yourself anywhere near Ladd, Illinois, you would probably enjoy Rip’s chicken. My wife and daughter did. But don’t forget to bring your own supply of napkins.