Sure, I couldn’t make the party but that really wouldn’t stop me from baking something now would it? No, of course not. Husband and I already had plans to attend a family graduation celebration but I really did want to bake something this weekend. Friday, I had planned on making cornmeal rolls for the party but decided at the last minute that they weren’t right for a BBQ. A BBQ requires something corny, fluffy, and with just a little bit of sweet. Usually I make the Corn Drop Biscuits in the Martha Stewart Baking Handbook, but I don’t really like how non-uniform they look (I’ve had a drop biscuit look like a breast complete with nipple and that did me in). So I moved on to her other cornbread recipe and nixed the corn because I didn’t have any on hand and made them without. Husband tasted a few slices and heartily approved, which is always a good sign. He isn’t nearly as tough a critic as I am, but when I get an “mmm” from him, I know I’ve done good. These cornbread bits got two “mmm’s” so I felt pretty confident when I dropped them off at the party.
I found this recipe a few months ago while food porn via Tastespotting. I’ve had this recipe sitting in my delicious catalog waiting for the right time. The right time being when I was in desperate need to use up some mispurchased heavy cream and the always available bourbon. We’ve had this bourbon since January and we’re almost 75% done with the bottle. Husband really liked this ice cream and I really enjoyed getting to use my Cuisinart Ice Maker one more time.
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.