Fantasy Fried Chicken, Finally

In this week’s Los Angeles Times, amongst the many things written about prolific writer Nora Ephron upon her passing, came the tidbit that she was a passionate foodie and cook in her private life. So much in fact, that she wrote a cookbook – one typed and bound in old fashioned spiral fashion which was never for sale but used as a gift for all of her cherished friends. Although she indeed spelled out many of her favorite recipes, the one for fried chicken read as follows: “Everyone loves fried chicken. Don’t ever make it. Ever. Buy it from a place that makes good fried chicken.”

I disagree with her on both points. Not everyone loves fried chicken. I didn’t for the past two decades of my life. Until recently, the last fried chicken I had eaten was a cold, drumstick in thick, buttermilk batter at a beach side picnic with my aunts and uncles as a child. It forlorned my palate due to its soggy delivery at the tail end of a day when the adults were too busy drinking to realize that the quality of the dinner wasn’t prime and I had a bad taste in my mouth ever since for the famous dish. My second try was later on at KFC and I don’t think I need to explain the gross monstrosity of gristle and fat that I received there to forlorn me even more.

But when I first met the Cute Gardener (who frequently chooses a food and proceeds to try every variation of that food he can find), he was on a fried chicken tour so I began to tepidly try a bite of each kind that would end up across the table on his dinner plate. Of the places we’ve gone so far, the honey syrup laced version I had last weekend was my favorite.

But nothing in the world compares to the fried chicken he makes at home. Part of the reason he is on a fried chicken tour is to try and find a version that bests his own. For a typically modest man, you know the chicken is THAT DAMN GOOD when he even admits to something like this. I had it a few weeks back and am still waking up in the middle of the night wishing I had it for a cold, midnight snack.

I am not allowed to say what’s in it. So here is my recipe for fried chicken a’la Ephron cookbook style:

“Find a partner who knows how to make it better than anyone else and seduce him/her so they’ll make it for you.”