Get ready to crow about the cocktails at Prohibition Chicken

The idea behind Prohibition Chicken is eyebrow-raising enough to get the adventurous DFW diner to strike out beyond his or her regular dining radius.

It’s a family-style chicken bonanza — more expensive than the one popularized in these parts by Babe’s Chicken — in old downtown Lewisville, where the rustic appeal of reclaimed barn panels meets the craftiest of cocktails. And Thursday through Saturday, Prohibition Chicken will let you in on its secret: A false wall in the phone booth just off the dining room gives way to a “speakeasy” with a little more sprawl to it than its humble entryway belies.

But the gussied-up add-ons come at the expense of the chicken. Prohibition Chicken takes aim at Babe’s in the kitchen and at the high-end cocktail lifestyle at the bar, but it misses on the meal at every turn.

That’s not something any bow-tie-wearing bartender can reclaim with a $15 cocktail, no matter how cute the name.

Perhaps some of the disappointment comes from heightened expectations, ones developed from reading about the place. You get the feeling that Prohibition Chicken cares about sourcing when you learn that the restaurant has a hand in raising the birds, in conjunction with Texas-owned Dunbar Hollow Farms, that end up on your plate.

But the kitchen apparently didn’t care about sourcing any flavor into the pecan-smoked chicken ($19). The fried chicken, which comes in four varieties (crispy fried, hot chili fried, pecan smoked and “smoke fried”), has unfortunate breading that comes off in sheets rather than the textbook crunch every fried chicken fan anticipates after putting in their order.

The tri-tip was similarly uninspiring, even after expectations were taken up a notch by the $29 price tag.

Both entrees come with four family-style sides for the table, refillable on request.

But you’re not in any danger of filling up on sides if none is appetizing enough to finish on the first round. Vinegar overpowered the pot licker power greens, while starches like cheddar-ale mac and cheese and smashed potatoes just made us say “meh.”

At least the waitstaff didn’t seem to be sticklers for the menu’s directive that you pick two from the list of cold sides and two from the warm ones.

Then there are “sops” to keep up with, four small, antique milk bottles with a few dabs of sauce in each. An Alabama-style white barbecue sauce was flanked by a more recognizable sweet red barbecue sauce and two “sops” classified as gravies.

The “sops” seemed to be just four more parts of the Prohibition Chicken experience that are more for show than to add any real value to the meal. It all makes for a somewhat scattered evening. .

Though it’s delightful by itself, you probably don’t want to put a Hair of the Dog (Witherspoon Texas Bourbon, cranberry, blackberries) on top of a belly full of bird, regardless of how charming the “speak” is.

The decor and the menu would fit better with Mason jars of specialty moonshine concoctions than they do with the Roaring ’20s theme at the bar. But if Prohibition Chicken got rid of the Roaring ’20s speakeasy-inspired cocktails, it’d be losing the best part of the visit.

Oh, and the cornbread rolls are good. So, there’s that.

This story was originally published June 20, 2017 at 3:45 PM with the headline "Get ready to crow about the cocktails at Prohibition Chicken."