All that meat and no potatoes

More than merely super-sized burgers and fries, American food is a mouthwatering reflection of the nation's cultural diversity

- Tom Parker Bowles

IF the restaurant you have been directed to lies between the 7-Eleven and the dry cleaners in a dusty strip mall,' wrote Jonathan Gold, the late, great Los Angeles based seer of serious eating, 'you're probably at the right place.' Prince's Hot Chicken, little more than a glass-fronted, nondescript shopfront on the northern edge of Nashville, Tennessee, is just that place.

It's a few minutes after noon, on a sultry Southern afternoon, and the queue snakes gently round the block. Inside, five ageing booths and a large serving hatch, manned by Andre Prince, the great-niece of founder Thornton Prince. The story goes that Thornton had quite an eye for the ladies and, one night, after stumbling home late with lipstick on his collar, his girlfriend had had enough. She cooked up fried chicken spiked with enough cayenne pepper to knock out a black bear. The problem was, Thornton loved it so much he asked for seconds. A Nashville institution was born.

Back to the present day and the Prince's kitchen, where three ladies dunk joints of chicken into seasoned flour, dosed with varying amounts of cayenne pepper, ranging from a respectable 'plain' to a frankly suicidal XXX Hot. More about which later. The meat is then slipped into vast iron skillets, fried until the crust is crisp and golden, then served atop a couple of slices of Mighty White bread, topped with a pile of pickles. So far, so civilised.