I saw The Help over the weekend and I literally lost my mind in the movie theater. I don't know where the term, "basket case" comes from, but that's what I was. A case of wet, sobbing baskets... gulping for breaths in between snotty spasms of tears. (I hope you're picturing that.) Anyway, the movie left me with a sense of sadness, hope and a STRONG craving for fried chicken. Luckily, here I am on vacation with Carson's mom, a true Southerner from Lilesville, North Carolina.
For some reason, I have known her for 5 years and have never tasted her fried chicken. In the next five years, I plan on having it 1,825 times. 1,826 if we're expecting a leap year soon. I just did that math, I really did.
There she is. And there I am. Her taste tester.
Carson supplied the chef jacket, and wear it well she did. Because we weren't just treated to fried chicken, no, we were fed a proper Southern meal, all prepared by Miss Pattie. Let's start with the chicken, and the basics...
Whole milk. She lets her thighs, legs and breasts rest in milk for awhile...
A heaping pile of flour, sprinkled generously with salt and pepper. She even took a bite of the flour, just like her grandmother once did, to make sure it was well seasoned.
Eggs. None of that egg white baloney.
Finally, the most important part. CRISCO. Just go see The Help, and you will want to lick it off your fingers.
Pattie takes her chicken that's been sitting in milk and follows this order: egg, flour, egg, flour. EXTRA CRISPY.
Aaaaaaand into the hot Crisco it goes...
Starting to crisp...
Getting even crispier...
Ohmygod yum. I ate 3 pieces. I wasn't supposed to tell you that.
As I mentioned, it was a PROPER Southern meal. Which means Country Gravy...
...and Mashed Potatoes...
...Lima Beans in Butter and Herbs...
...and a Southern Salad...
I lost my mind after this meal. Like a pig rolling around in dirt. A happy pig, nonetheless, not the wet, basket case kind. Thanks PDC!!!
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