A Little Humerus Conversation.

I believe strongly in the things that resonate between human beings.

Perhaps that’s why food is important to all of us. It’s something common and can almost always be switched up when an awkward conversation goes astray. (Where recently I had a conversation with a man who felt strongly about water boarding in the Middle East, in which I quickly tried to change the subject to food.) I could hear the backward screeching record in my head.

Less politics, more food. Am I right?

I am intrigued with fried chicken and the powerful force that it is to break down cultural and political barriers.

Yep. I’m going there, because it needs to happen.

So fried chicken is good. Real good. We all know that. At least if we eat meat and enjoy the comforts of breaded chicken, deep fried and spiced. **See blog header**

I’ve been known to show up random places with a box of Popeyes under my arm.

I consider it a peace offering. A way to a higher place. Not heaven-like, but maybe close. You can’t talk about fried chicken with someone and not see them smile. Or at least laugh. Because it’s ridiculous. We both know that.

fried_chicken_wings_macro_june_10_20103

 

There is white meat and dark meat.

Both sides are perfectly good. I prefer frying white meat and roasting dark meat. I don’t like dark meat to sit in hot oil for very long, but it must. We all know that feeling when we bite close to the bone and see that frightening raw pink, and throw it to our plates in fear. (But really, you shouldn’t be that freaked out by it.)

Whenever I cook fried chicken for the masses, I love white meat because like I said, it cooks faster. I usually debone it from the breast and make tenders, because I mean, who doesn’t love a chicken tender? There’s no bone to deal with, and to be honest, I can’t handle a gigantic piece of white meat. (Talk about privilege, right?)

I tell people my favorite piece is the wing. It is my weakness. It is my perfect nostalgic memory. A chicken wing with a side of banana pudding. Something my Grandad loved. Savory with sweet. Not eaten together, but to counter act the sweet and rich saltiness. To end the meal on a balanced tone. I like gnawing on wing tips. I love the humerus/wingette. The little drumette is good, but dang y’all, it’s those two bones that get me.

My dad and I were talking about it, as it comes up in conversation from time to time. Obviously.

The idea that you can deconstruct a wing just enough to place a thin layer of blue cheese or ranch. (Because we all know we love it and would prefer eating something of this nature in a dark room, alone.) Getting that perfect bite of spicy and crunchy and dairy of choice to round it out. It’s kinda great, ya know?

I know I sound ridiculous, but you get it. I’m just the dude saying it out loud.

Or that piece of fried chicken known as the thigh — when you can bite into the one side where’s there’s no bone, but fat and crispy and meat. I mean, it’s the best.

And I love that it’s so understood. I just nod my head and say, “Yep…yep..I know, I know…” and we relish in the thought.

It’s hilarious. Right? At least I think so.

Given the current climate, I could use a little ridiculous fried chicken talk. Maybe that’s why I needed to write this.

I also know that I didn’t need to remind people of what food does to us. I’m always blabbering about it.

But it is good.

And today, I could use a little goodness.

 

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