We ate at Fusspot Chicken last night, for the first time. They're a once-a-month Portland, Oregon fried chicken popup. It's some of the very best fried chicken I've ever paid for--only misty distant memories like The Green Parrot compete with it.
In any case, you want to eat it. Really. Just sign up for next month. Pre-order for April 1 opens tomorrow morning. Yum. Hurry up.
Returning to add: You may say "Korean-style fried chicken? What's that like? I want regular fried chicken." My fried chicken "school" is Tennessee pan-fried, and if you don't use the sauce, this will fulfill that craving just fine. On the bone with astoundingly crisp skin, and it's handed to you without sauce; you add it yourself.
Mmmmmm.
Showing posts with label Chicken. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chicken. Show all posts
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Rambling: Chicken Achieved
So.
I keep starting this blog post with the fact that I got my chicken. (Yay!) And then the post has nowhere else to go. Chicken is apparently not an inspiring opening. And I delete the post. This time I'll just keep writing.
It really ought to be. Chicken, I mean. An inspiring opening, I mean. Chicken is a glorious thing. Except when I say that I consider the post where I realized that this blog was started with fried chicken and fried chicken ties back to Mom and then, ack! Run!
Anyway. Margaret Visser's Much Depends on Dinner has a whole chapter on chicken. I think. I just got up to check, and it's not on the shelf where it ought to be. I'll need to find it or get a new copy; it's one of my favorite books. Detailed discussion of chicken, butter, and salt, among other things; what more could I want?
Um.
I once again watched eat-pray-love-lady's--Elizabeth Gilbert, that's it--TED talk about creative genius, the one where she talks about the idea that your genius, or muse, or whatever-you-want-to-call-it, is something outside you that may or may not show up to help, but that either way she--Elizabeth Gilbert, that is--shows up for work. And am trying to use it as yet another motivation to write regularly. I'm also trying to avoid perfectionizing, as in, "Well, what's the point of blogging? Your goal is to write fiction!" Blog. Blog the bleeping blog, and then bump up the goals later.
I haven't actually read Eat Pray Love. I'm one of those contrary people who refuses to read anything that's terribly popular. But I really liked the woman in the TED talk, so I should read it. Or her next book. There was a next book, right? That uncertainty is somewhat on topic for the talk.
I search on Elizabeth Gilbert and, wow, she has a lot of books. There isn't just "a" next book. Well, there might be; the others could all be from before, but I doubt it.
I feel cranky now because I see that the book, of hers, that I want to read most, about creativity, isn't out yet. It won't be out until the 22nd. Not even a Kindle sample. Hmph.
I go all sour-grapesey about it and tell myself that it looks too fluffy and pastel and new-ageish anyway. But I'll probably be buying a copy when it's out. Especially now that I'm listening to the TED talk again, because I really like it.
Buy it in paper or on Kindle? I drift to that question because, quite frankly, I'm just trying to keep myself writing. I feel guilty about buying Kindle books, because, well, Amazon, and because Not Independent Bookstore. But in theory the author still makes money, right? Or do they? Anyway, I try hard to order real live paper copies from my local bookstore, but I often give in to "Ooh! Want now!"
Tum te tum.
I've been planning to write up one of my four book ideas (three of them novels, one that nonfiction thing where I was worrying about how much expertise I would need) but I haven't gotten around to the actual writing, and so I'm not showing up for work. The one I'm aiming at is one of the novels, the only one where I have a beginning, an end, and at least a notion of the path in between. I still have dozens of major decisions to make about the plot, but that's really no excuse for failing to write, because I am confident that I am not someone who can plan and outline and write. For me, planning and outlining beyond a certain skeletal level is going to be stalling.
One of the four book ideas is, I strongly suspect, a short story. The story ending would be different from the novel ending. I keep thinking of Stephen King in On Writing discussing how Misery was going to end when he first wrote it as a short story. In a short story I could give it the cruel and ruthless ending that it really wants, but I'm not ready, yet, to whittle it down to the toothpick that it really wants to be--assuming, of course, that I could carve a sufficiently graceful toothpick.
That metaphor ran away, blowing raspberries back at me and cackling. I'm going to move on.
To.
Um.
Yes. Don't criticize your metaphors; your brain will avenge them.
Orphan Black is on the TV, one of my favorite scenes with Helena, the one where that woman was mean to that little girl, and shortly regretted it. ("You touch her again and I will gut you like a fish.") That one. I love Helena. I always have trouble remembering that all of those characters are played by the same actress, but Helena is the hardest to remember. Well, Helena and Rachel. Come to think of it, have we ever seen Helena and Rachel interacting directly, rather than through the intermediary of a sniper rifle? Hmm.
Anyway.
I'm sure that Helena appreciates fried chicken. For a moment I imagine Helena and the Fifth Element girl in a scene together. My favorite scene in The Fifth Element is, of course, "Chicken...good!"
Maybe I should do a page of Great Chicken Moments In Film. I've threatened to do that before, right? The Fifth Element moment, the moment in My Cousin Vinnie where the guy in the pool hall strips a chicken leg in one bite like it's a... OK, I have no analogy.
Mm, chicken.
OK, that's full circle, so I think it's time to stop. That is all.
I keep starting this blog post with the fact that I got my chicken. (Yay!) And then the post has nowhere else to go. Chicken is apparently not an inspiring opening. And I delete the post. This time I'll just keep writing.
It really ought to be. Chicken, I mean. An inspiring opening, I mean. Chicken is a glorious thing. Except when I say that I consider the post where I realized that this blog was started with fried chicken and fried chicken ties back to Mom and then, ack! Run!
Anyway. Margaret Visser's Much Depends on Dinner has a whole chapter on chicken. I think. I just got up to check, and it's not on the shelf where it ought to be. I'll need to find it or get a new copy; it's one of my favorite books. Detailed discussion of chicken, butter, and salt, among other things; what more could I want?
Um.
I once again watched eat-pray-love-lady's--Elizabeth Gilbert, that's it--TED talk about creative genius, the one where she talks about the idea that your genius, or muse, or whatever-you-want-to-call-it, is something outside you that may or may not show up to help, but that either way she--Elizabeth Gilbert, that is--shows up for work. And am trying to use it as yet another motivation to write regularly. I'm also trying to avoid perfectionizing, as in, "Well, what's the point of blogging? Your goal is to write fiction!" Blog. Blog the bleeping blog, and then bump up the goals later.
I haven't actually read Eat Pray Love. I'm one of those contrary people who refuses to read anything that's terribly popular. But I really liked the woman in the TED talk, so I should read it. Or her next book. There was a next book, right? That uncertainty is somewhat on topic for the talk.
I search on Elizabeth Gilbert and, wow, she has a lot of books. There isn't just "a" next book. Well, there might be; the others could all be from before, but I doubt it.
I feel cranky now because I see that the book, of hers, that I want to read most, about creativity, isn't out yet. It won't be out until the 22nd. Not even a Kindle sample. Hmph.
I go all sour-grapesey about it and tell myself that it looks too fluffy and pastel and new-ageish anyway. But I'll probably be buying a copy when it's out. Especially now that I'm listening to the TED talk again, because I really like it.
Buy it in paper or on Kindle? I drift to that question because, quite frankly, I'm just trying to keep myself writing. I feel guilty about buying Kindle books, because, well, Amazon, and because Not Independent Bookstore. But in theory the author still makes money, right? Or do they? Anyway, I try hard to order real live paper copies from my local bookstore, but I often give in to "Ooh! Want now!"
Tum te tum.
I've been planning to write up one of my four book ideas (three of them novels, one that nonfiction thing where I was worrying about how much expertise I would need) but I haven't gotten around to the actual writing, and so I'm not showing up for work. The one I'm aiming at is one of the novels, the only one where I have a beginning, an end, and at least a notion of the path in between. I still have dozens of major decisions to make about the plot, but that's really no excuse for failing to write, because I am confident that I am not someone who can plan and outline and write. For me, planning and outlining beyond a certain skeletal level is going to be stalling.
One of the four book ideas is, I strongly suspect, a short story. The story ending would be different from the novel ending. I keep thinking of Stephen King in On Writing discussing how Misery was going to end when he first wrote it as a short story. In a short story I could give it the cruel and ruthless ending that it really wants, but I'm not ready, yet, to whittle it down to the toothpick that it really wants to be--assuming, of course, that I could carve a sufficiently graceful toothpick.
That metaphor ran away, blowing raspberries back at me and cackling. I'm going to move on.
To.
Um.
Yes. Don't criticize your metaphors; your brain will avenge them.
Orphan Black is on the TV, one of my favorite scenes with Helena, the one where that woman was mean to that little girl, and shortly regretted it. ("You touch her again and I will gut you like a fish.") That one. I love Helena. I always have trouble remembering that all of those characters are played by the same actress, but Helena is the hardest to remember. Well, Helena and Rachel. Come to think of it, have we ever seen Helena and Rachel interacting directly, rather than through the intermediary of a sniper rifle? Hmm.
Anyway.
I'm sure that Helena appreciates fried chicken. For a moment I imagine Helena and the Fifth Element girl in a scene together. My favorite scene in The Fifth Element is, of course, "Chicken...good!"
Maybe I should do a page of Great Chicken Moments In Film. I've threatened to do that before, right? The Fifth Element moment, the moment in My Cousin Vinnie where the guy in the pool hall strips a chicken leg in one bite like it's a... OK, I have no analogy.
Mm, chicken.
OK, that's full circle, so I think it's time to stop. That is all.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Rambling: Chicken and Earl Grey Jokes
I want chicken.
Yeah, this is one of Those posts. The ones where I ramble on wherever my thoughts take me. Usually to chicken. And sunflower seeds. And caramelized onions. Did you know that onions, like chicken and sunflower seeds and milk and all of the foods that I crave, have (contain? produce?) dopamine? I hope that they still have that effect when they're caramelized. I suspect that they do, just because of the nature of the craving.
My top-ranked comfort food is goop, a dish of creamed chicken with caramelized onions. Maybe I should add sunflower seeds, just to make the experience complete.
OK, I'll stop staring dreamily at an imagined plate of chicken and try to think of something else to say. For example, there are pumpkins in the garden. Five largish orange ones and two or three or four largeish green ones that will be orange any day. And the Candystick delicata squashes are coming along nicely. I hope that they get all the way to ripe and I can taste them.
Chicken.
Chicken chicken chicken.
I've been thinking that I should start perfume blogging again, but even if my brain weren't chasing its tail like a squirrel in a cage, we're in that period when the seasons change and I temporarily dislike almost all of my perfumes. I think. Let's see what the blog has to say.
I see that in late August 2010, I loved Fendi Theorema.
In 2011, around the same time, I said that I found Un Crime Exotique "surprisingly suitable for summer." I see that I was also spending a lot of time gawking at The Farm.
In early September 2012 I spoke positively of Royal Apothics Green Tea.
Around the same time in 2013 I was talking about fashion and fried things; no perfume discussion.
In 2014 I was making happy noises about Serge Lutens Tubereuse Criminelle.
And that brings us to now. The main...
Blink. What's Captain Jack doing on My Family?
Sorry for the digression there, but the British sitcom My Family is on on the television in front of me, and John Barrowman, aka Captain Jack, aka Jack Harkness, from Doctor Who and Torchwood, was just talking to Susan Harper in a bus station or some such thing. His character is named, "The Doctor." Heh.
Oh, my God, John Barrowman has an album. As in, y'know, singing.
OK, I'm feeling surreal now. I could actually see the happy-go-luckyish Captain Jack from Doctor Who as a singer. Easily. But not the one from Torchwood. That's where the surreal comes in. It's sort of like seeing...seeing...seeing Jean-Luc Picard as a standup comic. Or something.
Chicken.
OK, that is all.
Yeah, this is one of Those posts. The ones where I ramble on wherever my thoughts take me. Usually to chicken. And sunflower seeds. And caramelized onions. Did you know that onions, like chicken and sunflower seeds and milk and all of the foods that I crave, have (contain? produce?) dopamine? I hope that they still have that effect when they're caramelized. I suspect that they do, just because of the nature of the craving.
My top-ranked comfort food is goop, a dish of creamed chicken with caramelized onions. Maybe I should add sunflower seeds, just to make the experience complete.
OK, I'll stop staring dreamily at an imagined plate of chicken and try to think of something else to say. For example, there are pumpkins in the garden. Five largish orange ones and two or three or four largeish green ones that will be orange any day. And the Candystick delicata squashes are coming along nicely. I hope that they get all the way to ripe and I can taste them.
Chicken.
Chicken chicken chicken.
I've been thinking that I should start perfume blogging again, but even if my brain weren't chasing its tail like a squirrel in a cage, we're in that period when the seasons change and I temporarily dislike almost all of my perfumes. I think. Let's see what the blog has to say.
I see that in late August 2010, I loved Fendi Theorema.
In 2011, around the same time, I said that I found Un Crime Exotique "surprisingly suitable for summer." I see that I was also spending a lot of time gawking at The Farm.
In early September 2012 I spoke positively of Royal Apothics Green Tea.
Around the same time in 2013 I was talking about fashion and fried things; no perfume discussion.
In 2014 I was making happy noises about Serge Lutens Tubereuse Criminelle.
And that brings us to now. The main...
Blink. What's Captain Jack doing on My Family?
Sorry for the digression there, but the British sitcom My Family is on on the television in front of me, and John Barrowman, aka Captain Jack, aka Jack Harkness, from Doctor Who and Torchwood, was just talking to Susan Harper in a bus station or some such thing. His character is named, "The Doctor." Heh.
Oh, my God, John Barrowman has an album. As in, y'know, singing.
OK, I'm feeling surreal now. I could actually see the happy-go-luckyish Captain Jack from Doctor Who as a singer. Easily. But not the one from Torchwood. That's where the surreal comes in. It's sort of like seeing...seeing...seeing Jean-Luc Picard as a standup comic. Or something.
Chicken.
OK, that is all.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Rambling: Rambling
Er...
See, I want to blog more often. That's going to result in a fair number of "Er..." posts.
Er.
Also, um.
And hmm.
See, my brain is largely empty. It has thoughts of chicken. And it's pushing away thoughts of work, because it's not work time. And again the chicken. Milk too.
Mmm, chicken.
In my head I can hear Leloo from The Fifth Element, making happy noises about the platter of chicken.
That makes me try to think of Great Chicken Moments In Film.
Like the guy in My Cousin Vinnie who stripped the whole chicken drumstick in one motion.
And "four fried chickens and a Coke" in The Blues Brothers, though we never got to actually see any chicken.
And.
Um.
Surely there must be more?
I tried searching for more, and instead learned that fried chicken for Christmas is a big tradition in Japan. Who knew?
Again, um.
That may be all.
See, I want to blog more often. That's going to result in a fair number of "Er..." posts.
Er.
Also, um.
And hmm.
See, my brain is largely empty. It has thoughts of chicken. And it's pushing away thoughts of work, because it's not work time. And again the chicken. Milk too.
Mmm, chicken.
In my head I can hear Leloo from The Fifth Element, making happy noises about the platter of chicken.
That makes me try to think of Great Chicken Moments In Film.
Like the guy in My Cousin Vinnie who stripped the whole chicken drumstick in one motion.
And "four fried chickens and a Coke" in The Blues Brothers, though we never got to actually see any chicken.
And.
Um.
Surely there must be more?
I tried searching for more, and instead learned that fried chicken for Christmas is a big tradition in Japan. Who knew?
Again, um.
That may be all.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Chicken Index: Screen Door, Portland
I mentioned Screen Door yesterday. (Though I added a stray "the" to the name.) I've always been puzzled by brunch restaurants that have lines out the door and down the block, week after week after week. Is it something addictive about the location? Is it a meditative interval in a too-busy life? You show up, enter your name on the list of those who hope to be worthy, and hang around for an hour, perhaps two, chatting absently with friends and strangers, waiting for an opportunity to leap, catlike, at an open waiting-area bench seat, and now and then reading the menu one more time. Dedication is required--if you wander off for an hour of an anticipated two-hour wait, you'll find that roll was called and your name removed.
For some of these restaurants, I can't even praise the food. That's not true of Screen Door; they're worth the trip and the money, though I may have doubts about the wait. (We were, I admit, told that the two-hour wait this Sunday was unusual.) The waitstaff are good, too--sharp and friendly and fast. The wait wrangler is stern, but no sterner than the desperate crowds of would-be brunchers require.
The chicken portion of the event was chicken and waffles. The chicken is a very fine version of the crispy-peppery-batter boneless-white-meat sort. Unfortunately, that's not my favorite sort, so I can't judge the flavor--me reviewing black-pepper-seasoned fried chicken is rather like me trying to review an aldehyde-focused perfume. I'm similarly handicapped in reviewing chicken and waffles; I don't understand the chicken and waffle phenomenon, despite several childhood years in the South. It's like I'm trying to review a fougere and its compliance with the classic elements--given that I don't even know the classic elements without looking them up.
I can tell you that the chicken was well-cooked and well-textured and moist, and that the batter was a very nice texture, reliably crisp, not the slightest hint of sogginess or detaching. Very good crunch. There was a lot of pepper by my wimpy standards; I needed some side honey to reach an enjoyable balance of flavors.
But I've decided that my dish at The Screen Door is the praline bacon, bacon heaped with nuts and sugar and..er...something spicy; I forget the menu description. (Image here.) It's hard to see it as bacon; I referred to it, when a nearby table asked about it, as candy that happens to involve pork.
Screen Door: White meat, crisp black-pepper-seasoned batter, deep fried. Offered as chicken and waffles. Every aspect of quality that I can judge is admirable; I can't appreciate substantial pepper, no matter how good the chicken. Recommended, with pepper caution. Side notes: Praline bacon. Get some.
Review Roundup: The Joyful Table and Breakfast in Bridgetown and Yelp and Portland Monthly and Eater PDX (about the lines, not the chicken).
Image: Wikimedia Commons.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Random: Weekend Rambling
Well, that daily blogging thing fell down. But it was an extended holiday weekend--I've been off since Wednesday. That's different, right? Right? Sure it is!
We went to Portland. We ate food. We looked nervously at the notices telling us what to do about the boil-water notice. Then we ate more food. Then we cheered at the news that the boil-water notice was over, and the fact that we could now reliably get ice in our beverages. Then we ate more food.
Some of the food, such as the cured salmon at Paragon, was reasonably diet-appropriate. Some of it, such as the doughnuts at Blue Star and the biscuits at the Pine State cart, was (were?) emphatically not. The fried chicken at Screen Door was not appropriate for any normal diet, but since my diet is currently focused on sugar reduction, it was just fine. Except that they brought me honey for it. Which I used. Oh, and except for the cookie that I bought from Waves of Grain while waiting for a table at Screen Door.
Yes. Yes, I did. I walked to another business and purchased a snack to carry me through the wait between signing in at a restaurant, and sitting down. Did you ever see the Portlandia episode about the brunch line? I assume that it was based on the Screen Door. Except that the Screen Door doesn't have a cult leader kidnapping people to punish them for violations of line protocol. I assume.
You need to see their chicken and waffles. See this photo. From this post on The Joyful Table. Yes, it is customarily shared. And everyone leaving the restaurant seems to be carrying a box.
That is all.
We went to Portland. We ate food. We looked nervously at the notices telling us what to do about the boil-water notice. Then we ate more food. Then we cheered at the news that the boil-water notice was over, and the fact that we could now reliably get ice in our beverages. Then we ate more food.
Some of the food, such as the cured salmon at Paragon, was reasonably diet-appropriate. Some of it, such as the doughnuts at Blue Star and the biscuits at the Pine State cart, was (were?) emphatically not. The fried chicken at Screen Door was not appropriate for any normal diet, but since my diet is currently focused on sugar reduction, it was just fine. Except that they brought me honey for it. Which I used. Oh, and except for the cookie that I bought from Waves of Grain while waiting for a table at Screen Door.
Yes. Yes, I did. I walked to another business and purchased a snack to carry me through the wait between signing in at a restaurant, and sitting down. Did you ever see the Portlandia episode about the brunch line? I assume that it was based on the Screen Door. Except that the Screen Door doesn't have a cult leader kidnapping people to punish them for violations of line protocol. I assume.
You need to see their chicken and waffles. See this photo. From this post on The Joyful Table. Yes, it is customarily shared. And everyone leaving the restaurant seems to be carrying a box.
That is all.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Chicken Index: The Chicken Index
I've been thinking for some time that the blog really needs an index of places that serve fried chicken. Actually, the world needs an index of places that serve fried chicken. Because there's a lot of variation in fried chicken--bone-in or otherwise, skin on or otherwise, battered or dusted or crumbed, flavored or just chicken-flavored, and the classic question of pan-fried or deep-fried. So just knowing if a restaurant is, in general, good or not, doesn't tell you much about the chicken. A very fine restaurant that sells peppery battered chicken is not my chicken place, though it might be someone else's.
Now, classic fried chicken, in my view, is bone in, skin on, dusted/dredged with flour and not too much pepper, and pan fried. But that doesn't mean that there isn't plenty of other very fine chicken out there, some of it where you wouldn't expect. For example, who would have thought that the Medford Food4Less would have some pretty good chicken? How could you know, if you're not told, that the crust on the skinless "put a bird on it" chicken at The Original in Portland has some weird magical ingredient that makes it taste rather as if it isn't skinless? And how would you know that their evening fried chicken entree, while quite good, is an altogether different fried chicken?
The public has a right to know.
I've been debating just how to present the information, though. A chart, so you can scan across and check out just the (for example) bone-in entries? Just reviews, like perfume reviews? A cross between the two?
I'm thinking of the cross between the two--an index, and if I get around to writing a full review, I'd link to it. The index would have entries like:
Smithfield's: Chicken pieces, bone in, skin on, light breading, no excess added flavorings, incredibly moist white meat, and you can get chicken as a side! Recommended.
Tot: Wings, bone in, skin on, no breading, medium spicy sauce, juicy meat. If you crave plain fried wings, they can leave off the sauce. Recommended. Use caution if you're a spice wimp like me.
Does that work? What else does a chicken addict want to know?
Hungry now.
Image: By Douglas Paul Perkins. Wikimedia Commons.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
SOTD: None. And seasonal shifts. And poultry skin.
I seem to have suddenly--and temporarily, I'm sure--lost interest in perfume. I theorize that this is day length--it's cold, but days are getting longer, so I'm being reprogrammed to want warm-weather perfumes, but I don't want them yet. It's just a theory.
Actually, I am craving scents, but they're not scents that my collection offers me. I want the brown-butter dusty scent of the cepes note in Aftelier Cepes & Tuberose, but without the sweet tuberose. And I want the scent of garlic. And crispy chicken or duck skin. And bacon. I want smoky meat instead of smoky sweetness or just plain smoky smoke.
Salt, smoke, butter, and crisp fat. I don't think that the perfume world has anything for me right now.
But I still want to buy perfume. Badly. I want to select it, and click the Buy button, and wait for the package to come, and have the unwrapping ceremony. But I don't want to wear it.
My brain is confused.
Image: By Evan Swigart. Wikimedia Commons.
Actually, I am craving scents, but they're not scents that my collection offers me. I want the brown-butter dusty scent of the cepes note in Aftelier Cepes & Tuberose, but without the sweet tuberose. And I want the scent of garlic. And crispy chicken or duck skin. And bacon. I want smoky meat instead of smoky sweetness or just plain smoky smoke.Salt, smoke, butter, and crisp fat. I don't think that the perfume world has anything for me right now.
But I still want to buy perfume. Badly. I want to select it, and click the Buy button, and wait for the package to come, and have the unwrapping ceremony. But I don't want to wear it.
My brain is confused.
Image: By Evan Swigart. Wikimedia Commons.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Food: Stroud's
Admittedly, I'm many hours away from Kansas City, but it's still exciting.
Food: The Green Parrot
Idly Googling for a memory refresher, I found that the Vintage Kansas City website has a Green Parrot page, complete with recipes. So I had to offer the links here.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Wrong Food: Chicken Chips
So, to make chicken chips:
- Preheat the oven to about 250.
- Get a bunch of chicken thighs with skin still attached.
- Remove the skin and place it, fat side down, in a single layer in a baking pan with sufficiently high sides to keep the chicken fat in when it starts to render out.
- Put the rest of the thighs away to do something else with.
- Put the pan in the oven and bake it very slowly until the chicken skin is brown and fully crisp.
- Remove the chicken skin and salt it. Do whatever you want with the chicken fat left behind.
- Eat the chicken skin.
- Bask in your utter dietary irresponsibility.
- Prepare for the chicken-fat hangover the next day.
Photo from Wikimedia Commons
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Food: Slow Fried Chicken
It's delicious. It's evil. It's fattening. It's saltycrunchygreasy. It's got all that going for it.
It's also a food that cannot successfully be mass-produced. Real fried chicken is pan-fried in shallow fat, watched intently by a focused cook who dodges grease splatters while waiting to turn the pieces at exactly the right moment.
Deep fried chicken can be a perfectly edible, even enjoyable food, but it's just not in the same class.
And the crunch isn't about batter - it's about getting the skin rendered to perfect crispness, without destroying the meat in the process. Just dredging the pieces in flour is plenty, for breading. And the flavor isn't about spices - salt, preferably applied an hour or so before cooking, is plenty for seasoning. Fried chicken is simple ingredients transformed by careful cooking into full-on luxury gluttony.
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