I like it cooked in a variety of ways, but I really like it baked or stewed.
This curry chicken from Cynthia Nelson's Taste of Home blog looks quite scrumptious:
Throw that on a plate with some rice and beans and it is ON!
Now, baked or stewed chicken is great.
But ain't nothing like fried chicken!!
This batch of "chicken in de ruff" from that same Taste Like Home blog looks mighty tasty!!
Even good ol' Indian street food like chicken-on-a-stick looks good, like these tasty Tandoori pops, from the foodie blog Hooked on Heat...
(I posted those pictures for That Original Oldgirl Chele. She sho nuff loves herself some good food porn. Gotcha, didn't I, Oldgirl!? LOL).
Well, that was the one place I messed up during our fast: I had some fried chicken.
Yo, it wasn't like I meant to.
Fooling with my lil' sister Kentucky is what did me in.
It's all Kentucky's fault!!
And here's what happened:
Well, the night I went to visit my father, on January 12th I believe, I was having isshas. Real crazy isshas for a couple of days.
I was craving some good fried chicken.
I don't know why. I only eat fried chicken only once or twice per month. I just didn't get it!
And when I went to my father's house, I had to pass a Mrs. Winner's fried chicken restaurant.
I slowed down and leaned over the steering wheel a bit. The big red, yellow and white sign was talking to me...
"Come hither, Oldgirl. Come hither, and get a piece of chicken. You know you want it."
Man, I had to talk to myself. REALLY talk to myself.
And keep on driving.
On my way home from my father's house, I had to pass the same restaurant. But I paid it no attention because I was deeply pondering this meeting with my father. Passed right by the place without so much as a second look.
But I made it home, parked in the garage and went in the house and I saw this...
My permanent houseguest, Kramer William.
My attentions were focused on him for the rest of the week. Everytime I saw him, I'd say:
Hey, there little boy Kramer!
Look at that lil' leg of yours!
Bet I can salt and pepper up that leg!
Shake a lil' flour on that leg!
Drop it in some Hot Grease!
Fry it up, real crispy like.
Good eatin'! Gooooood eatin'!
He already doesn't get much attention, and is rather bored with us all, even his boy Oscar-Tyrone.
Normally, he'll come up to me, and I would rub him. But I think he saw that look in my eye. He'd scramble away, just out of my reach.
(Incidently, the other cat Oscar Tyrone, was no where to be found.)
I was borderline delirious. Yes I was.
This went on for a few days. Eventually I was alright. There would be no meat until February. Just accepted it, and kept it moving.
That was until I opened the fridge early on the following Sunday morn to retrieve some bottled water. There was a strange Wal-mart bag in there. I felt it with my hand.
It felt like a pack of chicken.
I smiled like Miss Celie smiled.
I walked into the living room and called upstairs to my sister.
She, in her usually calm manner, opened her bedroom door and looked out over the banister. "Yes, Lisa?"
"You bought some chicken?"
"What are you going to do with it?"
"I wanted to fry it. But I was waiting for you to leave so I could and not mess you up. But you won't leave."
"And I ain't leaving," I quickly said. "Fry it up, because I want a piece."
"B-, But," she stuttered. "I don't wanna mess you up, Lisa. And the grease from the take-out chicken places messes my stomach up. I can only fry it myself, but you won't leave."
"Whatever!" I yelled. "Fry it up, before I get around here and fry up Kramer!"
*Kentucky peers over banister down at LadyLee, her eyebrows raised in pure fright.*
She could've said no, but Kentucky is the type that wants no problems. So, she fried up some chicken that night. Doggonit, it was GOOD. I think I had 4 chicken wings.
But after it was all said it done, I was laying in the bed later that evening, thinking quietly to myself...
"I could've had a V-8."
Didn't have chicken again until the Superbowl. Still had that feeling that a V-8 would have been more enjoyable.
Me and Kentucky are still laughing about that.
I'm sure Kramer is breathing a sigh of relief.
But I still feel like, there is nothing in the world like GOOD fried chicken.
Even if I don't really care for it like I use to.