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• Greasy, bloody, fatty, and delicious

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A scrumptious plate of deep-fried gizzard at Harold's Chicken Shack in Champaign. (Tricia Ruiz, Buzz writer)

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Harold's Chicken Shack No. 47 »
Address: 502 E. John St. Champaign, IL 61820
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Every time I go into Harold's Chicken Shack, 502 E. John, there it is, calling to me from the miscellaneous section of the menu: the "Liver and Gizzards Dinner."

I’ll readily admit – I like gizzards. Livers ain’t bad either. The texture of gizzards doesn’t bother me, not really. Livers are a little harder to negotiate, but I appreciate them. Buy a whole chicken, the kind with a bag of little extras inside – the neck, the heart, the liver, the gizzard. I’ll roast it up or fry it, whatever. But then I’ll cook up the extras with some garlic, vinegar and soy sauce, Filipino adobo style – it’s a family favorite.

But the thing is, I’ve never had them plain. Or at least cooked in a way as simple as with a nice crispy coating and a good deep fry. Any time I’d eaten them, they had been smothered in some kind of salty, heavily vinegared sauce. So I cannot say with full certainty that I’d ever really tasted a gizzard.

That being said, fried chicken-style gizzards and livers seemed like a good bet to me.

Finally this week, I ordered ahead and made my way over to Harold’s for my livers and gizzards. When I walked in, I could swear that, aside from the greasy, wonderful smell of fried chicken, I could detect the slightly earthy smell of my giblets cooking. I was dismayed to find that Harold’s was, in fact, out of livers. So the Gizzards Dinner it was.

I drove home in a tizzy, the smell of deep-fry emanating from the passenger seat. Once in my apartment, I brought the Harold’s bag straight to my living room, sat on the floor, and arranged the contents of the bag on the coffee table. Tiny cups of hot sauce, tiny cup of coleslaw, and the cardboard tray holding two thick slices of white bread and a pile of French fries, topped with a mound of crispy fried gizzards.

The sizes of the pieces varied, from the size of a fingernail to the size of two thumbs. On some pieces, the breading hadn’t stuck completely, and the smooth, grayish surface of the gizzard showed through. I picked one up and held it close to my nose. I must have imagined the earthy smell at Harold’s. It just smelled like chicken. I took a bite. The gizzard gave a chewy resistance,

much like biting into cartilage. The taste was subtle, not strong or overwhelming, but familiar, like dark meat but richer (bloodier, fattier). I dipped one into the tangy, vinegary hot sauce, and, in a way, it brightened the taste, cutting through the heavy fattiness of the gizzard.

My thoughts on the dinner: not bad. I liked it. I could imagine sitting in front of the T.V., picking at a bucket of gizzards. (Though, seriously, they get heavier and harder to manage as you eat more.) But next time, I’ll have to get the livers, too.