![]() ![]() We made up two batches of seasoned flour, using Ron Douglas's 'KFC' mix and our own Guardian crowdsourced version - let's call it 'GFC' - and fried sample pieces of the poached chicken dredged in each. It's worth noting for future recipes that chicken marinaded and poached in milk has an unbelievably suave flavour and texture, and that the poaching liquid thickens to create the most soothing cream of chicken soup I've ever achieved. ![]() Most recommended some time in the oven after frying, but we thought we'd experiment with poaching beforehand and, as many of our posters suggested an overnight marinade in milk, we decided to use the marinade as the poaching liquid. Lacking KFC's mighty pressure fryers and mindful of the need to cook the chicken right through, we were happy to follow the suggestions of double cooking. We were also able work out a sensible method of home cooking fried chicken, and devise a convincingly British spicing mix. Thanks to a huge response from WoM posters we were able, once again, to revisit the endlessly fascinating moral arguments surrounding the eating of animals. An online competitive chicken fry-off, then? Bring it on. It sublimates family tensions, draws communities together and generally makes it socially acceptable to eat like a starved weasel in the name of politeness. I personally reckon the world would be a much better place if we all got together every now and again in a 'healthy' competition over fried chicken. Your personal 'secret recipe' for fried chicken is a pretty serious business in the South, and a newbie outsider like me could be forgiven for believing that all those family reunions, church picnics, barbecues and tailgate parties were just a front for a bitterly fought and endless competition to produce better and better fried chicken. In the course of the evening a couple of hundred people turned up, most carrying trays covered in a cloth and containing a personal variation on fried chicken. The reception was held on a hot summer evening, on the banks of a sleepy river on the family farm and was a pot-luck affair. I lived for several years in rural North Carolina and married a local girl. But I'm lucky enough to also have sampled the real thing. ![]()
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