Hidden in plain sight on Indianapolis’s north side sits a culinary time capsule where fried chicken transcends mere food to become something almost spiritual – Hollyhock Hill, where golden-brown perfection has been making Hoosiers swoon for generations.
I’ve eaten fried chicken across America, from roadside stands to white-tablecloth establishments, and I’m here to tell you that this unassuming spot might just be serving the most magnificent version in the Midwest.
The restaurant’s modest white exterior gives little indication of the culinary treasures waiting inside – like a delicious secret shared among those fortunate enough to know.
As you approach the building, there’s an immediate sense of stepping back to a time when dining out was an occasion rather than a convenience…