I have a confession. I am the person who picks the crispy crunchy crust off of the chicken and eats it. I’m talking about your chicken. I want everybody’s crunchies.
I asked Dirt Man to pick up chicken on his way home the other day. And there I was (before I even put it on the table) picking the crunchies out of the bottom of the box, and pulling huge chunks off of the chicken.
If I could only just buy the crunchies…forget the chicken.
Oldest Son usually reminds me of how fattening the crunchies are. And the skin. I don’t care. It’s my favorite part. Besides, I say, if I get fat (fatter, that is!), at least I enjoyed the ride there! He’s just a little too health conscientious for me to listen to. We all gotta live a little, huh? Anyway, we really don’t have it often enough to worry about it.
My mom made the best fried chicken ever. That’s the one meal my brother still requests when he comes in for a visit. When we were younger, my sisters (three of them, all bigger and stronger, so I didn’t stand a chance!) and I used to fight over the crispies. My mother would always scrape it from the bottom of the cast iron skillet and drain it on a paper towel. It was pretty much the first person who found them was the one who got them unless it was me and they caught me. I learned to eat quickly. And to clasp my hand over my mouth. Finally, I got smart and just hung around the kitchen every time my mom fried chicken.
So, next time you take home a bucket of KFC and open it to find that your chicken is naked, chances are I’m hiding somewhere in your house scarfing down those crispies!