Discomfort Food: Fried Chicken

Just like Will Rogers never met a man he didn't like...Mrs. HM never ate fried chicken she didn't like. Of course, some fried chicken is more likeable than others. The fried chicken Farmer H brought home from his class reunion does not fall in to my favorites category.

Oh, it was crispy enough. Even on Sunday evening, after cooling its legs in the bottom of FRIG II overnight. I put it in the oven at 400 for five minutes, and it crisped right up. I was anticipating a delectable repast of a thigh and a breast and some slaw. Nom-nom! Farmer H was out gallivanting around, having already eaten by the time I packed my provisions down to my dark basement lair.

I was so anticipating that first bite that I overlooked the puddle of grease on the pan I'd used to warm my chicken. Ah...the moment I'd been waiting for. A satisfying crunch. Tender. Huh. The flavor was not what I'd expected. It tasted like the batter was flour. Flour alone. No seasonings. Flour. Tasted like flour. Perhaps fried in vegetable oil.

Yes, the texture was the best thing about that chicken. I couldn't figure out the grease. You'd think it would have dripped out after sitting around 24 hours. Or that maybe the restaurant (a Mom & Pop place--more like a Gram and Gramps place) nearer the school than here, would have drained it before sending it off to the reunion.

Farmer H was the chicken picker. He was sent to pick up the order, which was supposed to be ready at 4:00. The lady told him it might be closer to 4:30, and he said, "Lady, the reunion starts at 5:00, and we've had this order in for weeks." While he was waiting, an old couple sitting at a table told Farmer H that they'd been waiting TWO HOURS for their meal. I guess the chicken-fryers didn't plan ahead. I told Farmer H that it almost seemed as if that chicken had been baked, and then fried. Due to the juices running out like that.

Anyhoo...you can bet that I ate every crumb of that fried chicken. Even though it wasn't very good.