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Thursday roundup for Eat on 30, plus a poetic lesson on night cooking
First, the lesson. *waterfall, chirping birds and gong sound*
I make remarkably good fried chicken. I cooked some last night for lunch today. I’m not sure what happened, so I’ll write a haiku about it:
on the frying of chicken late at night
why’s it in my hand?
should be cooling on the rack—
damn! it’s in my mouth.
So… I wasn’t hungry at all this morning, and a banana was all I needed. Lunch was potato-leek soup and some burned, soggy caramelized, marinated eggplant, and dinner was a brined and grilled chicken breast over red leaf lettuce with a splash of vinaigrette. Total for the week is now $10.38. I’m supposed to meet a friend at a dive bar to watch the Phillies, so I plan to nurse one Guinness for the entire evening. (Wish me luck. A lot of it. [First Editor’s note: Alternately, you can wish him a PBR.])
The real excitement, culinarily speaking, is that my chicken drumsticks are now curing (parsley, thyme, garlic, orange zest, green onion, pepper, and lots of salt) for my chicken confit, which will be served with my ‘deconstructed paella’ on Sunday. Maybe I will fare better than Ron on Top Chef!
BREAKING NEWS: [Second Editor’s note: Observant readers (in other words, anyone but Zack) will notice that the green onion seems to be absent in the above photo. It was on the counter, which is a difficult place from which to impart its flavor unto the chicken. This has now been rectified.]
[Third Editor’s note: I mean what the hell, man, seriously.]
