Chick-fil-A makes some of the best fried chicken in New York

Go choke on your woke birds.

Chick-fil-A is America’s favorite fast-food chain for the eighth year in a row, according to the American Customer Satisfaction Index, “a national indicator of the quality of economic output for goods and services as experienced by consumers of that output.”

I can’t swear to the precision of their nationwide rankings. I’ve never tried the baby back ribs from Chili’s Grill & Bar, and I’ve yet to stop for a burger and bottomless french fries at Red Robin. Nor have I had time to check out all 2,700 Chick-fil-A outlets from coast to coast.

But I’m on board as a fan. Chick-fil-A delivers a remarkably tasty poultry product at prices almost too low be to true. (For the record, the lowest-ranked brand was McDonald’s, which had a 68% approval rating compared with Chick-fil-A’s 83.)

Chick-fil-A is controversial in woke circles for the sin of promoting Christian values — OMG, closed on Sundays! — and for a former company president’s opposition to gay marriage.

But at lunchtime, like most people, I don’t care about politics or religion.

I want moist, juicy chicken, dammit — which Chick-fil-A’s pickle juice brining delivers consistently. Fancier places around town should learn from them. Overcooked, dry chicken has become a staple of the New York restaurant scene. Paying top dollar for the basic foodstuff at the trendiest hotspots is no guarantee it won’t be subjected to careless grilling, frying and roasting, too often yielding a $35 bird with the texture of sandpaper.

Chick-fil-A’s affordable fried chicken sandwich — $6.09 in Manhattan for the breast on a bun, plus your choice of brightly flavored sauces, the best of which is the honey and mustardy original — has never failed to please me at its dozen-odd Big Apple locations, only some of which offer seating.

Unlike most other chains, Chick-fil-A doesn’t pile on a heap of condiments to provide mouthfeel and to camouflage flavorless main elements. The chicken, served on a buttered, toasted bun with just a couple of pickles unless you opt to customize, actually tastes good by itself.

The make-it-moist spirit carries over to a short list of alternatives, such as spicy chicken ($6.39); a grilled chicken sandwich that comes with tomatoes and lettuce ($7.49); and even notoriously moisture-resistant nuggets ($6.19 for a pack of eight).

I’m less crazy about add-ons like the often limp waffle-cut fries ($2.79-$3.69), but the bird’s the real reason to go.

The restaurant wisely remains chick-centric. The Chick-fil-A menu takes no stabs at beef, fish, shrimp, burritos or any of the other kitchen sink ideas that too often bog down other brands, leaving customers to pound employees with questions while they fret over what they want.

Chick-fil-A’s streamlined, sensible menu makes for hassle-free ordering, which in turn helps to keep hardworking staff cheery, even at hectic breakfast and lunch hours.

I asked one fellow in the Sixth Avenue at West 23rd Street outlet how he felt about the chain’s supposedly controversial past, which led to failed boycotts at various places around the country.

“Don’t know anything about it — what was it?” he answered.

Well, some cranks whine about the company’s supposed “creepy” religious affiliation and allegedly diabolical cow paintings, which have been targets of detractors’ wrath. See, the cows are somehow Chick-fil-A’s “ultimate evangelists,” according to a completely unhinged New Yorker magazine essay a few years ago. (No comment.)

Meanwhile, normal New Yorkers happily line up in droves. In fact, Chick-fil-A is set to announce plans for its most ambitious Big Apple store yet. The location’s yet to be disclosed, but wherever it may be, it’s an expansion to cluck over.