Georgia produces more chicken than any state in the USA, and as a resident of the good old state of Georgia, as well as a God fearing consumer, I do my part to support this fowl, prosperous industry. Boiled in ripping hot fat is the favorite chicken cook method, but I even boil it in water on occasion. Though, the skin is never crispy that way. Oh, how the boiling medium can effect the results.
It was a Monday, and I ate a light breakfast in anticipation of a planned meal at Busy Bee Cafe, on MLK Blvd, just over the tracks near the aquarium. Two piece, dark, with greens and mac. Ham hocks on the side. The chicken – crusty, small pieces of Southern heaven. Tender. Salty. A group of young men walk in, smelling heavily of weed. My dining parter asks why it smells like weed in here? Silly question. If I was on the dope downtown, Busy Bee Cafe is a likely destination.
Wanting more, I saved it for just down the road, at Jamal’s Wings, the parking lot shack, selling just about the best wings one can find. Five wings hot. Hassled for money by the guy standing by the barred ordering window. Buy him a five pack too. Lemon pepper.
Took them home, traveled surprisingly well. Large but crispy outside and juicy inside. Classic buffalo sauce style, with an added red pepper flake punch. Perfection.
Dinner ideas? More chicken. Springer Mountain, packaging defaced by Paula Deen. Salted. Wishbone removed, spatchcocked. Paprika, fennel, cumin, duck fat. Four hundred fifty degrees, twenty five minutes. Rested well. Torn apart, eaten with hands.
The chickens…they keep coming, and I keep eating, but the day of chickening is coming.
