if you’re feel­ing starved…

--July 25th, 2007--

No, not this lovely salad. That’s the flank steak dish I told you about yes­ter­day, with shred­ded car­rots added to the sec­ond try. Avery says this: “The bean sprouts are already kind of sweet, and the beef is so savory, that I worry it over­pow­ers the beef to add car­rots, but it’s good.” I like them for the color, but you try it both ways and see. We’ve finally come to the end of the left­over flank steak. I love what Gladys Taber says about left­overs, “it’s a ter­ri­ble word. ‘Remain­ders’ is even worse.” But if you can use things in a nice way, it’s so sat­is­fy­ing and budget-conscious.

No, what I’m talk­ing about as far as diet-busting, uber-rich, super special-treat, is… Home­made Fried Chicken! Have you ever fried chicken? Nei­ther had I, until last night. For some rea­son it sounded so good, and so ambi­tious to do, that I thought about it all after­noon and read Lau­rie Colwin’s recipe in Home Cook­ing (here adapted by Sara Moul­ton for the Food Net­work, and Bobby Flay’s online ver­sion, and then adapted both sets of instruc­tions to my own approach. Mostly I needed help in depth of oil, tim­ing and what to do with it when it’s cooked. Turns out, the short answers are: 2 inches, 12 min­utes, lay it on paper tow­els. But here’s the real deal. The secret to my fla­vor­ing is a table­spoon of a new spice blend I found in the fab­u­lous Pen­zeys Spice Shop in Min­neapo­lis, led there by my tal­ented and ener­getic niece Sarah.

Home­made Fried Chicken
(serves 6)

1 chicken cut up (breast halves cut in half again)
1 cup milk
1 1/2 cups flour
1 tbsp each: Fox Point sea­son­ing, paprika, gar­lic salt, lemon pep­per
Wes­son Oil to fill 2 inches deep in large, deep-sided skil­let (with a lid)

Mix the spices in the flour by means of a leak-proof plas­tic bag (pos­si­bly the one you car­ried the chicken home in?).

Have a bowl ready for your milk, a big bowl for your sea­soned flour, a plat­ter for the floured pieces, and the skil­let ready full of oil. Since I am noto­ri­ously bad at keep­ing track of heat­ing skil­lets, I waited until I had fin­ished dip­ping the chicken pieces to heat the oil. Prob­a­bly you can pay atten­tion to each, and if so, more power to you.

Dip each chicken piece in milk and wet every bit. Then place in sea­soned flour and pack as much flour as you can on each piece, lay­ing each one on the plat­ter when you’ve fin­ished. When you’re fin­ished, dust a lit­tle more sea­soned flour on the wait­ing layer of chicken pieces.

DON AN APRON. I’m not kid­ding. And place either a dish­towel or some paper towel on the floor under the front of the stove. But don’t slide on it!

Heat the oil until a piece of bread on the end of a fork fries imme­di­ately when placed in the oil. Then places as many pieces as you can of the chicken in the bub­bling oil. You can crowd a bit, because the chicken pieces shrink as they cook. Cover imme­di­ately and cook for about 5 min­utes, then turn each piece care­fully. Con­tinue to cover and cook, turn and cover and cook, sev­eral times, but let­ting at least 10 min­utes elapse for the breast quar­ters and wings, and at least 14 min­utes for the thighs and drum­sticks. When they look brown and appeal­ing, they are ready. Remove to a clean plat­ter lined with paper tow­els and let rest for about 5 min­utes before eating.

*************

Ambrosia! But RICH. If you’re like our fam­ily, you don’t eat much fried food. You’ll be sur­prised at how lit­tle it takes to sat­isfy you. Then quickly wrap up any left­overs, drive to your neigh­bor Farmer Rol­lie and his wife Judy, and donate them. They will be thrilled, and it’s a good excuse to sit and gos­sip for a bit.

We’re off to the pool. More later…

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