Chicken is the potato of the animal kingdom. Like the potato, though it has an inherent taste of its own, it really exists more as the things that are done to it.

A French fry is a potato risen to the heights of culinary pleasure. A roast chicken is the most soothing of all imaginable foods — happiness without feathers. Though I do enjoy a nice deep-fried chicken wing, especially done Korean-style with a crust that crackles with every bite, for me nothing beats the Zen perfection, the sheer simplicity of a roast chicken.

At the tiny Rotisserie Chicken of California — an easy-to-miss storefront on Los Robles Avenue in Pasadena — roast chicken approaches a form of culinary veneration. And it has for a long time.

Rotisserie Chicken of California dates back to 1993, when it was opened by the married couple of Yasuto “Yosh” and Harumi Yoshiike — locals who lost their longtime home in January’s Eaton fire. Thankfully, they didn’t lose their longtime business — reason enough to show them our support.

But even beyond that, we support them for their obsession with rotisserie chicken, served every way imaginable, with a wide array of sauces and flavorings, in a bestiary of forms. (Every way, that is, except for deep-fried Korean–style. This is chicken cooked old-school, sauced but undaunted.)

Though there are a handful of small dine-in tables at Rotisserie Chicken, I suspect most folks order their chicken to go. Roast chicken travels so well; a ride on the passenger seat may even make it taste better. Or at least focus my taste buds so I go from hunger to craving.

More often than not, I keep things simple, going for the marinated rotisserie chicken, which may (or may not) be touched with a hint of soy, maybe some white vinegar, a light snow of salt and pepper.

The basic model comes dark or white if you get the quarter bird. Breast, thigh, leg and wing if you get the half. I always get the half because, well, it’s a treat to find the leftovers in the fridge the next day. Chicken parts for breakfast? Why not? Lots better for you than Froot Loops.

The basic model comes with a choice of rice, French fries or steamed vegetables. The chicken travels well. The French fries … not as well. Which is the nature of French fries. But that doesn’t bother me as I dig into the impressively tender chicken parts, cooked long and slow, better than anything I could make myself.

If you want to get fancy in terms of flavors, there are 10 sauced chickens served for dinner. (Lunch is marinated rotisserie, wraps and sandwiches only.) The sauced chicken is turned from tasty finger food into some nicer, if not actually fancy meals. In this case, the sides run to rice, mashed spuds, steamed veggies — and a green salad with a choice of house-made Japanese mustard, creamy ranch, French vinaigrette and thousand island dressings.

And then there are the sauces. The garlic sauce is good, though mild; this isn’t the garlic at Zankou Chicken. There’s a white wine vinegar sauce, a teriyaki, an Italian tomato, a hot-and-spicy, a white bechamel, a brown Bourguignon, a curry, a hickory barbecue … and a 32 spicy extravaganza, that can be further gilded with the addition of roasted garlic.

The far simpler lunchtime rotisserie is available, too — both as itself, and in a sundry of tasty forms. You can get it in an enchilada, a quesadilla, as a breast cutlet, atop angel hair pasta, or as a chicken cutlet parmigiana. It appears in a basic green salad, in a Caesar salad, in an Oriental chopped salad, a Chinese chicken salad, or an “Old Pasadena” salad.

And to go back to lunch, there are five chicken wraps, and nine chicken sandwiches. You want a grilled chicken Honolulu sandwich with pineapple and cheese, teriyaki sauce and mayonnaise? They do it.

The shop is chicken- obsessed. But there are alternatives. For lunch, there’s a tuna salad sandwich, a seafood cutlet sandwich, and a smoked salmon sandwich. For dinner, there are four steaks, and four fish.

They may be just fine. But I don’t go to a place called Rotisserie Chicken of California for a steak au poivre japonais. I go for the chicken. Not just because it’s what the shop is all about. But because if I were told by my doctor I had to give up meat, I’d still eat chicken.

Chicken soothes. Chicken satisfies. Chicken has the sort of familiarity that washes away an hour stuck on the 210 during rush hour.

Once, when my daughter had altitude sickness at 12,000 feet in Cuzco, Peru, I went to a roast chicken place, and got her a bird with fries to eat in the room. By the next day, she was ready for Machu Picchu. Roast chicken heals. It’s my culinary happy place.

Merrill Shindler is a Los Angeles-based freelance dining critic. Email mreats@aol.com.