I’d never even heard of Gio’s Chicken, which turns out to be a cozy joint hidden behind a pair of uninviting warehouse doors in back of Antico Pizza. So when friends J&J suggested we join them Friday night for dinner there, we agreed to go, expecting it to be a bit like an upscale Bantam and Biddy.
We arrived at 6:20 on a chilly Friday night and lucked into a parking space right at the door. My first impression? I thought the place had gone out of business, and that J&J had missed the news. The lot behind Antico’s was dark as a dungeon. Instead of bright, warm, welcoming windows, we saw nothing but brick and cinderblock walls. The light above the only doors (two heavy steel affairs of the sort that might lead into an industrial freezer) was out.
I was surprised, then, when those doors opened to reveal a bright, white expanse — the “line room,” where customers queue up to study the overhead menu board and place their order.
The menu is refreshingly simple: four traditional chicken dishes (including roasted chicken seasoned with capri oranges and garlic or lemons, garlic, and oregano), three specialty chicken dishes (including spicy diavola and, seasonally, blood oranges), and four hearty pasta dishes. Even on my first visit, I felt I could take in all my options and make a good choice (the diovola chicken) in seconds.
After placing our order, we took our number (and our tiny little bottles of chianti) to the dining room. In lieu of little booths and tables, Gio’s has installed many large, farm-house style tables, surrounding them with (often rickety) wooden chairs. We snagged one end of one table, leaving four open seats on the other end (but on a busy night, you should plan for communal dining here).
The atmosphere here is very much “home-owned Italian family joint meets Midtown loftiness.” Given the low lights, shelves littered with plastic pope figurines, rustic fixtures, and centerpieces fashioned out of pottery and dried flowers, you can easily forget you’re in an industrial space and feel more like you’re dining in, well, an industrial kitchen somewhere on the Amalfi coast. I’m not being critical — it works, and the overall effect is one of curious intimacy, given the expansiveness of the room.
The food, of course, is what matters most. About fifteen minutes after we were seated, the kitchen staff delivered four bowls to our table. And about five minutes later, this was the scene:
Okay, so, I got a little carried away. I admit it! But listen: this chicken … oh, this chicken! It arrived steaming hot, bathed in a spicy broth of peperoncini, fresh garlic, fresh crushed pepper, and spicy olive oil. Because I was on plan — down six pounds total this week, thank you very much — I didn’t indulge in what looked like delicious potato wedges encrusted with spices or the two generous hunks of flatbread that came with the meal, but I did gobble down the incredible house salad, which came loaded with thick shavings of fresh parmesan cheese.
Spicy. Savory. Succulent. Sexy. Yes, all that. And more. I’d eat this any day, any time.
Well, maybe not. At fifteen bucks a plate, this might be just a hair too pricey to join my list of “anytime eateries.” That said — depending on how crowded the place might or might not be — I would definitely think of Gio’s as one of those places I use to wow out-of-town guests. And for friends (like KD or JP, who are on dietary plans similar to my own), this is a low-carb option that feels less like a diet and more like an indulgence day feast.
Gio’s is open every day “until out of chicken,” which means every day ends in heartbreak for someone, I suppose. Don’t let it be you: recruit some friends, snag a table of your own, and go.
Love that phrase "…every day ends in heartbreak for someone"…