Because of a looming eight-hour car trip and uncertainty about a certain hurricane, I got this week’s FFF started early by eating fried chicken for lunch at Salt Factory in the Reynoldstown neighborhood of eastern Atlanta. After arriving home on Monday, I hustled over to Noble Crust in St. Pete, one of the few semi-upscale restaurants in the Bay area that features fried chicken.

In between, we ill-advisedly stopped for lunch at a Chick-Fil-A in a mall food court near Gainesville because I was jonesin’ for a chocolate shake. The uber-popular chain pressure-cooks its bird, but still — that’s a whole lot of chicken in a two-day period, fried or otherwise. I know, it’s not exactly stackin’ days in county lockup, but it’s also not something I’d willingly sign up for.

It’s Tuesday afternoon as I write this, and I just saw chicken thawing on the kitchen counter. … All-rightee, then.

Before we begin, you should know that I rank slightly above novice when it comes to fried chicken.

SALT FACTORY

As I perused my menu during a family lunch, I spied an item called Chicken Fried Chicken ($20.99), which sparked the idea for this week’s competition. It was 99 degrees out, and my kids poked fun at my selection. Hey, I’m just a humble food scribe doing work, I shot back.

The Salt Factory — part of a five-restaurant chain (four clustered in and around Atlanta) with an unfortunate name — was a roomy and boomy gastropub. We sat in a comfy booth next to tall windows.

Appearance

I guess I didn’t fully digest the meaning of “Chicken Fried Chicken.”

There are plenty of folks who would find the sight of this dish salivation-worthy. Not I — not with the primordial ooze of country gravy smothering virtually all beneath. I’m a city boy, after all. A few green beans jutted out like tentacles. I was beginning to think my kids were right for razzing me.

Texture and Taste

I went immediately to the chicken, and it was good — juicy and flavorful on the inside, highlighted by a rustic brown crust that was the best thing on the plate. After a bit of probing, I discovered that I was eating a boneless breast, which made for efficient consumption with a knife and fork.

I ate the entire (medium-sized) piece, save for a few bites of crust that Bonnie stole. Continuing my exploration, I lifted the chicken to discover green beans arrayed in rows like two-by-fours on a palette. Weird — and way more than I wanted. I had a few, and they were okay, a bit soggy. I made but a small dent in the imposing heap of mashed potatoes.

The country gravy was a problem. Heavy stuff, man, with a flavor that turned out to be both bland and off-putting. (To be fair, I don’t know from country gravy.) I fork-scraped most of it away.

My Chicken Fried Chicken came basically as advertised. To avoid a Sunday afternoon gut bomb, I left about half of it on the plate. Box it up? Nah.

NOBLE CRUST

At 6:30 on Monday, this popular spot that hugs 4th Street at 83rd Avenue was doing brisk business. Pre-hurricane frivolity or just another Monday? I think the latter. We sat at a long table that had been separated into a four-top by the simple placement of a potted plant. Clever.

Contemporary dance-pop played loudly, further amplifying a room that’s already loud. I’m used to it. We’ve been dining here since it opened in 2015, and have always enjoyed doing so, despite the din.

I ordered Southern Fried Chicken ($19), which I didn’t recall having before. It included two sides, and I chose garlic mash potatoes and a small Caesar salad. To help wind down from the drive and quell some pre-storm anxiety, I got a Postcard Pilsner draft ($5) by St. Pete’s Green Bench Brewing. It’s one of the better light beers made locally.

Appearance

A half-chicken, coated a golden brown, sat in the middle of a rectangular tin, sided by a small crock of potatoes. No country gravy in sight. Instead, two sauces: Tabasco honey and (a much lighter) black pepper gravy. The tray provided bonus space for bones and other remnants.

Texture and Taste

I started with the drumstick, and was pleased that it wasn’t steroid huge. The crust gave way easily, and then I was treated to that familiar, luscious mixture of crunch, salt and juicy bird. An altogether different kind of Southern flavor than Salt Factory’s.

The wing fell apart, enabling me to eat all of it. On a roll, I dug into the breast and was enamored with its moistness. And so it went. I didn’t finish this fried chicken, but I did come close, and I did take the leftovers home. I tried each sauce, and both were commendable, if a bit too rich for my liking. I ultimately preferred to eat this chicken sauce-less.

The silky garlic mash provided ideal accompaniment. Earlier, the salad — pleasingly soaked in house Caesar dressing — had proven a substantial starter.

And the Winner of the Tampa Bay vs. Atlanta Finger-Lickin’ Best Fried Chicken Contest Is …

Noble Crust.

An easy call. The St. Pete eatery simply made fried chicken in a fashion that far surpassed the “chicken fried” concept of Salt Factory.

For those keeping score at home, this was our fifth Friday Food Fight pitting Tampa Bay against another city. Tampa Bay is 4-1, with previous wins over Santa Fe, N.M. (fajitas), Athens, Ga. (jerk chicken), Atlanta (barbecue brisket), and a loss to Seattle (coffee, muffins).

We should pray that the Buccaneers start so well.