The staff here at Baltimore's Most Sophisticated Alternative Weekly has been obsessed with chicken tenders ever since Helen Rosner wrote an essay on chicken tenders for Guernica magazine. Chicken tenders "are perfect," she writes. "They're perfect in flavor, perfect in aroma, perfect in shape, perfect in color . . . Perfection is passive, it's static, it verges on bland. It's a circle. A cloudless sky. An unmarked page. It's everything and it's nothing, and it's glorious, and it usually comes with fries." It's an impossible task to pit one incarnation of perfection against another, but we're impartial to the tenders at Mick O'Shea's. Perhaps the meat is a cut above the rest. Perhaps the seasoning in the breading is a little more flavorful. Whatever it is, it is perfection, and we can't get enough of it.