MFC

Today KFC announced that it would be extending selling its deep-fried meatfest, the Double Down, “for as long as customer demand remains high.” They expect to sell their 10 millionth breadless sandwich by the end of the month. I actually have no opinion about this; I am neither disgusted nor am I more curious about trying one.

It’s really not that surprising that something that combines cheese, bacon, mayonnaise and breaded goodness into one handy package would become a success. It’s basically a fistful of comfort food. I thought I’d try my own version without resorting to an obvious (and admittedly tasty) crutch as bacon. My version takes a much more subtle tack by substituting a thick slab of macaroni and cheese.

In prep, I made a pan of the custard-based mac and cheese I blogged about before. One advantage of this style versus the béchamel style is that it holds its shape when jammed in between two pieces of fried chicken.

I used the hand blender to make some mayonnaise (egg yolk, vinegar, salt, pepper, mustard powder – pour in canola oil while blending until it looks like Hellman’s) and then blended in some red pepper topping and a few dashes of chipotle powder. It’s really, really tasty.
Possibly the best part of the sandwich

Lastly, I pounded some (free-range organic) chicken thighs until they were flattish in between plastic wrap. I prefer thighs because they are more flavorful and juicy.
Poultry abuse therapy

Come fry time, I seasoned the thighs first with my version of 11 (more like 6) herbs and spices and then dipped them in buttermilk before dredging them in lightly salted flour and baking powder (1 tsp/cup of flour).

Then I just fried them in an inch of peanut oil, turning them a couple of times until they looked like…well, like something from KFC. Then I drained them and sprinkled on a bit of extra seasoning.
What isn't good deep-fried?

Assembly is pretty obvious. I suppose I could have added a couple slices of bacon and cheese, but I felt that would have pushed my “sandwich” from somewhat outrageous to wanton gluttony. Instead I added a side of collard greens to give the illusion of a balanced meal and to add some Southern cred.
Not easy to eat in the car.  Oh well.

So how’d I do? What would you like to see sandwiched between two breasts? I have some ideas, myself. It’s impossible to write about the Double Down without resorting to such obvious jokes so I will not apologize.  But seriously, if there's anything you want me to make, deep-fried or not, lemme know.

I Am a Big Fat Hypocrite

It turns out I’m completely full of crap. After all my talk about organic this and sustainable that, I’m just a big glutton destined to be a future pity contestant on The Biggest Loser. This weekend I went on a little outdoor excursion and when I reached civilization again, it was necessary to refuel. After eating two days of freeze-dried crap, I deserved, nay required, real food. While on the return trail, I had fantasies of poaching some wild salmon with chopped fresh tomatoes or defrosting a grass-fed ribeye. But once we got to the parking lot, hunger overwhelmed me and I manhandled our caravan to the nearest Black Bear Diner, one of a growing chain of restaurants on the West Coast. They specialize in comfort food in large quantities and do it well. So well that we decided that they must be owned by the same foreign conglomerate that started The Cheesecake Factory and P.F. Chang’s – just one more cog in the international conspiracy to make Americans even more obese. But what could I do about it? Once my eyes settled on the menu, I couldn't help but focus on the appetizer sampler platter, the one with the quesadillas, chili cheese nachos, garlic fries, chicken tenders (yes, chicken), and onion rings. What wasn’t deep fried was covered in cheese. Wait, everything was deep fried and covered in cheese. Anyhow, the point is, the seductiveness of their offerings eclipsed my political correctness. When the platter arrived, I took the prison posture where I protected my plate with my left hand while shoveling food into my mouth with the right. It was impressive. But what earned me true hypocrite/glutton status was my ordering a side of macaroni and cheese on top of the appetizers. Who cares that it was mediocre? My calories per dollar ratio was off the charts. Thus, I feel it’s my responsibility to blog this great shame. All my talk of boycotting poultry means nothing. And I’m sure there was nothing on that plate that didn’t involve genetically modified crops and/or high fructose corn syrup. So you should stop reading this blog, toot sweet. I can’t be trusted.