Kimberly Winter Stern
Crunch. Close eyes and silently swoon. Lick fingers. Remind yourself to inquire about how the skin is parchment-thin and deliriously crispy and the chicken is drippingly moist, not greasy. Repeat.
Fried chicken is one of those beloved dishes often handed down from generation to eager generation, a traditional food as important to preserve in some bloodlines as a Sotheby’s-worthy s heirloom is to some estates.
I have an acquaintance whose best friend from the South—the revered capital of fried chicken—discovered a treasure following her mother’s passing. Her great-great-grandmother’s prized recipe for ‘Sunday fried’ was nestled under the battered velvet tray of a box crammed with engraved silver flatware.
“My mother left me the silver,” the lucky inheritor says during a phone chat from her Atlanta home, “but I don’t think she remembered where she stashed that recipe. As far as I knew, the combination of spices and the exact technique for frying the chicken I was weaned on was a solemn family secret.”
We talk about how fried chicken was a part of our respective childhood family get-togethers and celebrations and how the portable food found itself in countless summer picnic hampers, tucked in with crocks of potato salad and coleslaw, plump deviled eggs and molasses-baked beans. Today we both still cherish fried chicken, not just for its sentimental meaning, but also for the magic of the humble food that, in its purest form, can be five-star dining.
Though we’ve never met, my newfound foodie friend and I continue discussing our personal favorites in the regional food parade. During the summer months she eats fried green tomatoes by the bushel, washing each crusted disk down with iced sweet tea as religiously as I eat smoky, caramelized burnt ends from the nearby barbecue stand I frequent. Her farmers’ market excursions in every nook and cranny of Atlanta include seeking out the best okra to for her black-eyed peas side that’s chockfull of bacon and fresh corn-off-the-cob and juicy Georgia peaches for her dump cobbler. Here in the Midwest, I scoop up baskets of blueberries for my favorite cobbler that’s spiced with fresh-grated nutmeg and best served with white-as-the-driven-snow ice cream I buy from a local artisan producer.

Our conversation turns back to Southern fried chicken and we both agree, it’s in a culinary class by itself. Organic, non-hormone fed chickens are the best; lard is the preferred artery-clogging oil of choice (once in awhile, we agree, it won’t harm); overnight soaking in milk or buttermilk is essential; and spices include salt, pepper, cayenne and paprika. From there, the recipe for perfect fried chicken takes a sharp fork in the road of ritual.

“My recipe calls for a few other spices,” admits my Georgia fried chicken fanatic. “This is one recipe I can honestly say hasn’t been tweaked in more than a century of cooks.”
The conversation politely stalls when I ask if she would share her great-great-grandmother’s recipe.
“Well,” she says, ever the Southern charmer. “If I did that, I wouldn’t have a reason to invite you to Sunday supper now, would I?”
I hang up the phone, knowing that though my investigative talents have failed in securing the guarded family secret, I have my own Southern fried chicken recipe waiting for me in my trusty kitchen sidekick, The Dean & DeLuca Cookbook.
And an invitation to a fried chicken dinner in Atlanta.
This is a recipe I’ve made for years and it truly is a no-fail one that produces picture-perfect fried chicken every time. It’s important to follow the timeline set forth, though—after all, it’s the crunch of the skin and the juice of the chicken enrobed in the irresistible flour-and-spice coating that we crave.
My choice of sides with fried chicken changes with the seasons. In the summer I love pureed sweet potatoes with a drizzle of real maple syrup, grilled super-sweet corn, freshly husked and sliced tomatoes sprinkled with kosher salt, to accompany my fried chicken orgy.

SOUTHERN FRIED CHICKEN
Serves 4
From The Dean & DeLuca Cookbook
Ingredients
3-pound fryer, cut into 8 pieces
12-ounce can unsweetened evaporated milk
1 ? cups flour
2 teaspoons salt
? teaspoon ground black pepper
? teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon paprika
lard, vegetable shortening, or vegetable oil for frying (at least 4 cups)
Method
Put chicken in a glass dish large enough to hold it in a single layer, and pour evaporated milk over it. Cover and refrigerate overnight, turning the chicken occasionally.

When ready to cook, combine the flour, salt, black pepper, cayenne pepper, and paprika in a paper bag and mix thoroughly. Put the chicken, 2 pieces at a time, into the flour mixture; shake until each piece is well coated with flour, and place the pieces on a backing rack. Allow the pieces to dry on the rack for 30 minutes to 2 hours. (Don’t dry for 2 hours if your kitchen isn’t cool).

Heat shortening in 2 deep, straight-sided skillets to 350°; the shortening should be about ? inch deep. When it is hot, carefully place half of the chicken in each pan. Fry chicken for 8 to 10 minutes on each side, about 20 minutes total, until it is deep golden brown and cooked through. (If the oil threatens to smoke at any point, reduce the heat; if the oil stops bubbling around the chicken pieces, increase the heat.)

Remove chicken and place on a rack to drain. Serve hot, warm, or at room temperature.
About Kimberly:

Kansas City-based freelance writer Kimberly Winter Stern, a former corporate manager, caterer and food stylist, is constantly on the hunt for stories that need to be told and words that need to be written. She pens articles for national, regional and local publications on a diverse range of topics including food, shelter, design, lifestyle, business and people and writes a food blog called “Kim Dishes.” This writer may have been given product and/or other compensation from Dean & DeLuca for this post.
Post Tags: cayenne pepper, Dean & DeLuca, flour, ground black pepper, How to, Kimberly Winter Stern, Olive Oil, paprika, peppercorns, recipe, Recipes, Seasonal, SOUTHERN FRIED CHICKEN, vegetable oil for frying, vegetable shortening