“You can’t bomb fried chicken and honey butter”

“This is why the terrorist’s can never win…”, explains my buddy and dining partner William Welch, “You can’t bomb fried chicken and honey butter”. I want to try and at least question the physics of what he’s saying, but my body is being beautifully disabled by the combination of sugar and saturated fats now flowing through my body, so in response I just smile and start preparing my next bite. It’s probably the closest I’ve come to taking heroin, but heroin that’s moist, crisp and served next to a big bowl of grits.

All my recent experiences with fried chicken revolve around picking up the chewed bones and grease sodden cardboard containers that the local school kids throw at my front door, so it was good to have my faith restored at Pies ‘n’ Thighs in Brooklyn and learn what fried chicken is really all about. I think I now fully understand the phrase “comfort food” – It satisfies, supports and cheers before giving you a goodbye hug in the shape of a banana cream pie.

Thank you Sarah and Co.

p.s. Please get Kuo to make some more of those T-shirts with the pink lettering.

Fried Chicken Box with Buttermilk Biscuit:

Grits:

Banana Cream Pie:

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