Monday, August 3, 2009

Where "chicken for dinner" still means "going out and catching, killing, plucking and gutting a chicken"

Nambuya Matilda went to a better place just a few hours ago. She was a sweet bird, maybe too sweet for a world where even Big Papi is now a juicer. She will be remembered for her quiet laughter, and for the delicious crust her skin formed when dusted with flour, paprika and garlic powder and dropped in a pot of hot oil.


By the way, based on our preliminary market research, somebody could make a killing around here selling fried matooke. Seriously people, why hasn't this become a thing? In a country where plantains and french fries are everywhere, it's so close. Just combine the two ideas. So delicious.

I just want to throw in that Michael Pollan is right (sweet article, by the way). Though seriously tasty, fried chicken is just too much damn work. Next time, it's back to roasting over tropical hardwood charcoal. And as far as cooking from scratch is concerned, if you're wondering how satisfying it is to have to cut off a chicken's head and pull out its guts out in order to eat chicken, the answer, of course, is that it's absolutely, cosmically satisfying.

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