It’s ironic that my first post on bnf (baked, not fried) should be a fried food. Since leaving Oklahoma, I’ve had to cut back on my fried food consumption mostly because it’s just not available to me here in California. Because I live in a land of fruits and nuts without a piece of fried okra in sight, I often long for the foods (unhealthy ones) of my youth but rarely do I make them.
Probably because as longingly as I recall the smell of the batter-dipped delights, I also remember the popping oil that singed my skin. It only stands to reason that something so wonderful, can not be created without a struggle, but I am cowardly when it comes to potential oil burns. So it is with great surprise to my husband and myself, that I stated quite matter of factly that I would be making fried chicken for lunch on Sunday.
The process wasn’t nearly as difficult as I remembered it to be. And the touch of the cold wet pink chicken flesh didn’t faze me at all (much to my surprise!). Husband even stopped by the stove momentarily to witness the oddity that is me cooking and not baking. I felt quite southern in that moment, just like I was back home, making fried chicken for ‘muh man’ on a Sunday afternoon. Later as we were eating the quite delicious chicken/corn/zucchini meal, he said we needed to move this dish into our monthly rotation, and I didn’t even flinch. The siren song of fried foods woos us all, Californians and ex-Southerners alike.