I love fried chicken. I really do. As an illustration of my love, I offer the fact that at the age of 24 I had my first ever kebab only a few short weeks ago.
It wasn't as good as the chicken. For me, it's a texture thing as much as a flavour thing. Crispy chicken skin taken to the nth degree. Plus, I get to feel all caveman eating this hunk of meat. It's overseasoned, crunchy and juicy and it always drips down my arms and face. It's delicious and disgusting in about equal measure.
Fried chicken is what I eat when I've been drinking and just need to have a little something on the roll home. Fried chicken is what I eat on the rare (I promise it is rare) occasions I get fast food, at an airport or motorway service station. Fried chicken, however, is not something I eat at home. Ever.
The reasons are twofold:
a) I'm not going to make it
b) There is no where near me that makes it in any form I'm willing to munch on sober.
It's a sad state of affairs, let me tell you.
My mission (and, oh yes, I do choose to accept it) is to make something that brings together my love for 3am-on-saturday gobbets of fried madness and my love of functioning coronary arteries.
Lightened up fried chicken.
Fried chicken for a monday, if you will.