Cook this Fried Chicken

I’ve had a dream ever since I was a little boy.

No, this isn’t the one where Wonder Woman and Cat Woman fight over me until I convince to share…

This dream, however, is just as awesome.

See, I’ve always wanted to make fried chicken. It ain’t easy to figure it out. But I learned the mysteries of the southern soul harmony and will teach you how to hum along.

Why is great homemade fried chicken so damn tricky to do?

For starters, every asshole I’ve ever talked with about my home made fried chicken dream gives you some bullshit like “my grandma does it the best” but they can’t tell you how grandma did it.

I know why, too. It’s probably because their grandma just brought the fried yard bird home from the Colonel or something.

And speaking of the Colonel…

His chicken sucks. The only thing he has going for him is the original recipe thighs. These are the world’s greatest hang over helpers and in just a few bites you can start boozing your life away by 10 am again.

The best chicken to buy at a store is Popeye’s and this is because each piece is marinated in Cajun stuff mixed with some high quality, pharmaceutical grade crack cocaine. Never heard of pharmaceutical grade crack cocaine? Well… you’ve obviously never met my friend Ray Ray down in the Iberville public housing development just on the edge of the French Quarter.

Iberville, home of Ray Ray

But I digress…

Just like Sir Galahad was the only member of King Arthur’s knights that was pure and noble enough to find The Holy Grail, I am the only mother fucker pure and noble enough to teach your ass how to fry a chicken to perfection.

You got this…


A whole fucking bag of all purpose flour (none of that organic bullshit)

One or two chickens cut up and trimmed of the excess skin

The big ass tub of Crisco

6 eggs


1 part flaky salt

1 part chili powder

1 part garlic powder

1 part onion powder

1/2 part cayenne pepper

1/2 part lemon pepper

1/2 part black pepper

1/2 thyme


First off, get your chicken laid out on a baking sheet. Now, make sure you spit on each piece.


Don’t spit on the chicken, fucktard. Now rinse that stuff off and start over.

Using about a fourth of your seasonings, get your raw chicken well dusted and let it sit.

The biggest key to this recipe is to get your big ass pot (see other recipes), put at least half the tub of Crisco in it and heat that fat to medium high heat. Don’t use a skillet. The skillet looks cool but it’s going to spray fat all over the place. Give it awhile. If you dribble water in and it sizzles you are set. You going to want around 3 to 4 inches of hot fat in there.

Crack those eggs and beat them in a large bowl with the rest of the seasonings. You might need to add more spices. The egg/spice should have a reddish/muddy hue.

Put a few cups of flour in a large shallow bowl or on a plate.

The steps here are:

  1. Dry (chicken in the flour)
  2. Wet (chicken in the egg stuff)
  3. Dry (chicken back in the flour)

Again, let the chicken sit. You are going to go through the whole bag of flour and your hands will be a gunky mess.

When it’s ready to fry, you are going to look at your chicken and think to yourself:

“Where the fuck did the flour go?!?”

Don’t worry your pretty little head. The flour is still there, it’s just mixed with the egg and when you fry the bird parts, the whole thing will “poof” up like some kind of black voodoo magic.

Add the pieces together and in the great southern traditional ways… It’s best if you segregate them. Breasts with breast. Thighs with thighs. Legs with legs. Wings with wings. You are doing this because the thickness of the meat and the bone make each piece fry at a different rate.

Don’t crowd the pot of hot fat. If you crowd the pot the chicken will stick together and be all fucked up.

Timing wise?

Wings — 5 minutes, flip, 5 minutes

Legs — 7 minutes, flip, 7 minutes

Breasts — 8 minutes, flip, 8 minutes

Thighs — 9 minutes, flip, 9 minutes

Put each batch on a clean baking sheet (preferable with a drip grate) and hold them in a warm oven until you are all done. 


This is going to take a couple of hours which means you have plenty of time to clean up the mess you made BEFORE eating and also drink a few cold beers and think about how badly you need to go on a diet.

I strongly suggest serving this with a nice salad.





Future Writer…

I think I’m going to quit my job and just throw myself into my dream occupation: 
Romance Novelist
It’s a crowded market and filling the pages between steamy paperback covers is never easy. So what’s my hook? Real life, first world problems turned incredibly sensual and exciting.
So far I got these working…

“Stuck in a Jam”

Something about the copying machine being out of toner and suffering from a paper jam didn’t sit well with Lacey DuPress. 

As an Ivy League trained office administrator she could smell a rat. And like a vicious terrier, she was going to hunt that rat down and break its back no matter what it took.

Her only lingering doubt?

Is ex-British commando turned tennis pro turned photocopying machine repairman Neville Studemount really able to help her?

Will her unyielding, feisty spirit trip her up? 

How can Neville ever get past Lacey’s super model looks long enough to focus on the dangerous printer task at hand?

Lacey is definitely…

Stuck in a jam.

“A Test to Ace”
Jemma Needsome is handling her hardest task ever. As a world renowned 3rd grade teacher she has the brains and the body to handle any situation. But she was not prepared for ex-Top Gun fighter ace Jack Tallow. 

Can she conduct her parent teacher conference properly? 

Is she strong enough to tell the strapping Jack that his son is simply an average student? 

Or can she turn his child into gifted and talented material? 

Does she have the guts to say Jack’s boy is the most frustrating and mouthiest SOB she has ever taught?

Maybe this obnoxious brat is not genius material?

Maybe he needs to be labeled as “developmentally challenged.”


But in the fast paced and dangerous world of the upper middle class public school education game, Jemma needs to teach some kids while keeping her special needs heart from falling for a retired fighter pilot.

Jemma just needs to get a passing grade on…

A test to ace.

“Too Hot to Handle”

In the coffee game, Becka Brewstar is a legend. She is not only the world’s leading barista but also won Olympic gold in both gymnastics and judo — on the same day. She can handle any order and crush any complaints that come her way. 

But she wasn’t ready for the mysterious ants that kept appearing in the Starbucks bathroom.

Will Becka be able to judo chop this infestation or will she find herself falling flat on her face when the health inspector arrives?

Perhaps the hard charging, well-sculpted exterminator and ex-NFL star line backer Brick Manmouth can help.

Or maybe he is simply spraying more romance than insecticide and will let his unbridled passion for Becka and her perfect latte’s get in the way.

Can Becka keep it together?

Maybe it’s all…

Too hot to handle.

“The Run Around”

As the CIA’s most qualified sniper, Paige Turner was used to dangerous situations that required the ultimate in concentration, finesse and reflexes.

But now, here in the suburbs and with nothing but her Delta Force training and bombshell looks, Paige found herself in the middle of the crosshairs herself.

Pillates was at 10:15 am.

Cookies for the PTA meeting needed to be at the school by 11 am.

A third world, America hating dictator was slated for assassination at 1:21 pm.

Her son had soccer practice at 2 pm.

Her daughter’s mandarin immersion began at 3 pm.

Cocktails at her best friend’s house began at 4:30 pm.

To top it all off, when Paige woke up her car battery was deader than that Yakuza gangster she iced the week before!

Will world champion mixed martial arts and auto mechanic Pedro Von Peter repair Paige’s imported sportswagon in time or is he too busy trying to jump start her forgotten love life and grease her gears?

This single mother with 28 confirmed kills just needs to get through…

The run around.