Fried Chicken ala Goosie
"So we meet again, eh?"
Yes, it has been a long time, naive little gosling.
"You don't scare me, you big hunk of metal. After many meals of crispy egg, I have long since mastered the art of frying!"
Oh? Shall I remind you of the time you tried to fry... radishes?
"I was only trying to make them crunchy..."
Buhahahahahaha!!! Foolish girl. And how about the time--
"All right, all right enough! I think I can remember perfectly well what I tried to fry."
Very well, foolish child. We shall see what you make of me.
-end internal monologue-
"I'm done internalizing," I told mutti.
Mutti rolled her eyes at me and handed me the tongs.
"Ooer," I say, eying the shiny gadget. I reach out to grab it, but Mutti swats my hand away. "For the chicken." she said with emphasis, deftly clamping the tongs over pinkish, ooglie meat and dipping it in the batter, then in the breading. "Then you put it in the oil, slowly, like this."
....
"Like this?" *plop!*
Kersizzle! says the hot oil, and mutti and I leap back, prepared to fight back in retaliation.
"ehehehe..." I grin sheepishly at mutti and the stove. "Go watch TV! I can handle this!"
Mutti reluctantly leaves me with the stove, and I...
I turn back to my chicken.
"Hello, chicken. I am going to fry you till golden brown for 10-15 minutes, or until you drip clear juice when I stick a fork in you."
The chicken silently begs for mercy. Hmph. Insolent chicken. Really, geese are much better creatures >.> *snark* XD
5 minutes later...
Chicken: *bleeds*
"OMG, THE CHICKEN! IT'S BLEEDING! IT'S BLEEDING! IT'S CURSING ME! KYAHHHHHHH!!!!" O_O
McAllister the second looks blankly at me, unable to save me from the Bleeding Chicken of Doom™.
It is then I remember that Mutti has gone out to get J from Unilever (for he is a working man! now.) and that NO ONE CAN SAVE ME...
Except me, of course.
And so, I steel my resolve and turn back to the Bleeding Chicken of Doom™.
"I will conquer you yet, you evil thing." *glare.*
KERSIZZLE! SPLAT!
"Hoooo, you attacked me!" I glare at the chicken once more, pick up the tongs with half a mind to toss it into the sink.
And then I turn the chicken over. One kersplat! on my arm I say to myself in a mantra, is not going to keep me from cooking dinner! >o<
Soon, the Bleeding Chicken of Doom™ ceases to bleed and actually turns golden brown.
Ahhh... lovely...
(10 seconds pass)
"Er... so, McAllister the Second," I tell the dog conversationally. "do you think the chicken is done?"
McAllister the Second's plump daddy Bubbles chooses to come into the kitchen at this very moment to judge and to stare.
Meanwhile, McAllister the Second imparts his doggy wisdom upon me. It won't matter that the chicken isn't done if you feed me, his big brown eyes seem to say.
I roll my eyes. "No, Ally my love. No chicken for you." and turn to Bubbles, "what about you, Poppa? Do you think the chicken is done?"
Bubbles licks his nose and simply stares at me, judging. Because he is an old(er) dog, and therefore wiser (by around 29 years), I cower before his sage-like wisdom.
Be one with the chicken, little one.
And just like that, I remember my introduction to the chicken.
"Hello, chicken. I am going to fry you till golden brown for 10-15 minutes, or until you drip clear juice when I stick a fork in you."
So I stick a fork in it, wait 2 seconds, and viola! Clear juice drips down the side. Fried Chicken ala Goosie is ready. :)
So yes, I am currently suffering from .00001 degree oil-kersizzle-splat burns(?), but hey, this scene at the dinner table is worth it...
J: You made dinner?
Chacquie: Yes, I made fried chicken ala goosie.
J: Urgh. We're never going to finish such awful food.
Minutes later, he sneaks a 3rd piece of chicken onto his plate while he thinks I'm not looking.
Chacquie: (pretends not to have noticed) Hey! I wanted that thigh part! Who took it???
J: (with his mouth full) the dog ate it.
:p nyahahaha.
One thing's for sure; this house will never have "Fried Goose ala Goosie" for dinner.
Yes, it has been a long time, naive little gosling.
"You don't scare me, you big hunk of metal. After many meals of crispy egg, I have long since mastered the art of frying!"
Oh? Shall I remind you of the time you tried to fry... radishes?
"I was only trying to make them crunchy..."
Buhahahahahaha!!! Foolish girl. And how about the time--
"All right, all right enough! I think I can remember perfectly well what I tried to fry."
Very well, foolish child. We shall see what you make of me.
-end internal monologue-
"I'm done internalizing," I told mutti.
Mutti rolled her eyes at me and handed me the tongs.
"Ooer," I say, eying the shiny gadget. I reach out to grab it, but Mutti swats my hand away. "For the chicken." she said with emphasis, deftly clamping the tongs over pinkish, ooglie meat and dipping it in the batter, then in the breading. "Then you put it in the oil, slowly, like this."
....
"Like this?" *plop!*
Kersizzle! says the hot oil, and mutti and I leap back, prepared to fight back in retaliation.
"ehehehe..." I grin sheepishly at mutti and the stove. "Go watch TV! I can handle this!"
Mutti reluctantly leaves me with the stove, and I...
I turn back to my chicken.
"Hello, chicken. I am going to fry you till golden brown for 10-15 minutes, or until you drip clear juice when I stick a fork in you."
The chicken silently begs for mercy. Hmph. Insolent chicken. Really, geese are much better creatures >.> *snark* XD
5 minutes later...
Chicken: *bleeds*
"OMG, THE CHICKEN! IT'S BLEEDING! IT'S BLEEDING! IT'S CURSING ME! KYAHHHHHHH!!!!" O_O
McAllister the second looks blankly at me, unable to save me from the Bleeding Chicken of Doom™.
It is then I remember that Mutti has gone out to get J from Unilever (for he is a working man! now.) and that NO ONE CAN SAVE ME...
Except me, of course.
And so, I steel my resolve and turn back to the Bleeding Chicken of Doom™.
"I will conquer you yet, you evil thing." *glare.*
KERSIZZLE! SPLAT!
"Hoooo, you attacked me!" I glare at the chicken once more, pick up the tongs with half a mind to toss it into the sink.
And then I turn the chicken over. One kersplat! on my arm I say to myself in a mantra, is not going to keep me from cooking dinner! >o<
Soon, the Bleeding Chicken of Doom™ ceases to bleed and actually turns golden brown.
Ahhh... lovely...
(10 seconds pass)
"Er... so, McAllister the Second," I tell the dog conversationally. "do you think the chicken is done?"
McAllister the Second's plump daddy Bubbles chooses to come into the kitchen at this very moment to judge and to stare.
Meanwhile, McAllister the Second imparts his doggy wisdom upon me. It won't matter that the chicken isn't done if you feed me, his big brown eyes seem to say.
I roll my eyes. "No, Ally my love. No chicken for you." and turn to Bubbles, "what about you, Poppa? Do you think the chicken is done?"
Bubbles licks his nose and simply stares at me, judging. Because he is an old(er) dog, and therefore wiser (by around 29 years), I cower before his sage-like wisdom.
Be one with the chicken, little one.
And just like that, I remember my introduction to the chicken.
"Hello, chicken. I am going to fry you till golden brown for 10-15 minutes, or until you drip clear juice when I stick a fork in you."
So I stick a fork in it, wait 2 seconds, and viola! Clear juice drips down the side. Fried Chicken ala Goosie is ready. :)
So yes, I am currently suffering from .00001 degree oil-kersizzle-splat burns(?), but hey, this scene at the dinner table is worth it...
J: You made dinner?
Chacquie: Yes, I made fried chicken ala goosie.
J: Urgh. We're never going to finish such awful food.
Minutes later, he sneaks a 3rd piece of chicken onto his plate while he thinks I'm not looking.
Chacquie: (pretends not to have noticed) Hey! I wanted that thigh part! Who took it???
J: (with his mouth full) the dog ate it.
:p nyahahaha.
One thing's for sure; this house will never have "Fried Goose ala Goosie" for dinner.