Fowl play: Should I feed my friend’s desire for a schnitzel battle?

My friend always declared my chicken schnitzel the best in the world. But he recently acquired a son-in-law who, apparently, makes a chicken schnitzel that leaves mine for dead. I think he’s trying to start a “Battle of the Schnitzels” to keep himself fed. How can I let him know that I won’t be participating?
R.B., Bronte, NSW

Credit: Simon Letch

Austria may have invented the schnitzel, but Australia has claimed it as our national dish, and we pronounce it “snitzel” – because we can’t be buggered with tricky “sch” sounds – or just “snitz” because we can’t be buggered with extra syllables. And even though I’m sure you make the best chicken schnitzel in the world, every other Aussie does, too: it’s a mealtime staple and almost impossible to stuff up. Take a chicken breast, coat it in Tip Top Krummies and deep-fry it until it’s golden-brownish to carcinogenic-black. If it’s too black, no probs: just melt cheese over the burnt bits and call it a parma.

This is why no self-respecting Aussie schnitzeler would ever participate in a Battle of the Schnitzels. The simplicity of the dish is what makes it so magnificent – and a snitz battle is insulting, demeaning and would only lead to offensive, try-hard schnitzel aberrations. The squirting on of Kewpie mayonnaise. The addition of a zucchini flower tartlet. Or the unspeakable “crumbing with panko”.

You tell your friend that if he no longer thinks your schnitzels are the best in the world, then you’ll no longer make them for him – or call him a friend or acknowledge his Australian citizenship. Yes, it’s that serious: you don’t play mind games with our glorious, beloved, classic, sacred, perfect, Aussie chicken schnitzel. Crunchy on the outside, juicy in the middle and dripping in so much oil you have to clean your face afterwards with engine degreaser.

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