Jimmy’s Bar and Oven
These are fried pickles ($6) for fried food lovers. They’re sliced up thin and tossed in a light cayenne-spiced flour. A long dip in the fryer creates the same satisfying crunch of a potato chip. We’ve all seen spicy chipotle mayo done before, but it’s a solid rendition with a good balance of smoke and heat.
A true pub fried pickle ($3), these no-frills chips are lightly fried and served up on what must be the kitchen’s tiniest plate. I would dock Costello’s for using store-bought Ranch, but at three bucks per order, they're the best-priced fried pickles in town.
Spears get a bad rap in the fried pickle world. Too often, the pickle turns mushy and the batter slides off after one bite. Neither is true of the fried pickles ($5.95) at Cambridge Common. A thick beer batter sticks tight to the spears, which manage to maintain a slight crunch despite a long cooking time. They made a bold choice with the pickle shape but offend no one with their dipping sauces: each order is served with Ranch and chipotle aioli.
Redbones serves their fried pickles ($4.99) with a little something extra: fried jalapeno slices. The combination makes for such a stellar fusion of tangy-crunchy-spicy that it makes me wonder why I don’t see it more often. The tartar sauce is so easy on the seasonings that I mistook it for a mayo, but it provides the right creamy contrast to the flavorful pickles and jalapenos.
Fried pickles are regular fare at pizza places, pubs, and barbecue joints, but JM Curley is a slightly different sort of restaurant, and it shows in their fried pickles ($5). House-made zesty dill chips deliver on the promise of their name—even when battered and fried. The breading emerges from the fryer dark and crisp, forming tiny balls of breading that somehow remind me of the best bits of fried chicken. A mustardy Creole mayo is a welcome change of dipping pace.