This afternoon, I fried chicken. This may not be newsworthy to most of you, but here in my house, it is. Truth be told, I'm not overly fond of cooking (and I truly dislike frying). It's not even the cooking itself that I hate so much, it's all of it together -- the grocery shopping, preparation, cooking and then the clean up.
My hubby has been asking for fried chicken for a while. I haven't wanted to cook it, but I am trying to cook more often, so I finally relented and told him that I would very soon. I'd prefer to make "healthy" meals since we both need to loose weight, but hubby doesn't want to eat healthy. He wants all the comfort foods I used to cook before we realized they weren't exactly healthy. After much back and forth, I bought the chicken and fried it today.
Hubby tends to forget that I've fried chicken almost as soon as he digests it. After all, he wants more fried chicken to be cooked! Soon we start to argue about how long it's been since I fried him any chicken -- I always think it's been fairly recent and he always says it's been a year. I decided to nip that argument in the bud this time around. I wrote it on the calendar and then realized that I should blog it too. Then I have proof (and so does he).
It takes hours to actually fry all of this. I get the biggest package I can find and go to it. I can't remember how many pounds it actually was (maybe five pounds), but I do know that it was nine breasts that I cut in half. Hubby likes for me to use garlic salt instead of plain. After washing, I salt with Lawry's garlic salt, then I shake it in flour that I've put in a zip lock bag and then fry in vegetable oil.
So, here is my proof. First of the chicken in the frying pan, then all of the chicken that's been fried today. I doubt it will last the night.