There S Nothing In The Air At Piko Riko

• Mike Sula
• Medio pollo, Piko Riko

Each morning, at around nine or ten, the atmosphere on the blocks surrounding the intersection of Montrose and Troy in Albany Park is saturated with the narcotic aroma of roasting chicken. If you happen to pass by the esteemed Colombian restaurant Brasa Roja, you can see for yourself the formations of bronzed chickens spinning over the smoldering coals in the front window. It’s a Pavlovian stimulus nearly as compelling as the invisible cocoa clouds that spew from the Blommer Chocolate factory, but it’s not even the best pollo a la brasa in the neighborhood (see: D’Candela). At least if you show up at lunchtime you’re assured of securing a chicken that hasn’t spent too much time under the heat lamp. And, perhaps due to this simple but effective piece of olfactory marketing, turnover at Brasa Roja is brisk enough that you can be reasonably assured of getting a fresh one at dinnertime too.