I love fried chicken.
Yes, I could go into further detail about this, but really, does any more have to be said? Over the years, I've developed several methods of preparing this, from extrapolations of the classic flour dredge - egg wash - bread crumb technique to the Korean-style cornstarch batter twice-fry. But when I've got the craving on the fly and I want to set myself up for impromptu availability (after all, I live on my own, and making a full-on eight-piece recipe is a bit much even for [sober] me), this is how I roll.
Boneless, skinless chicken thighs. Bones will only slow you down. White meat is for chumps.
A thingy of buttermilk.
Sriracha. Technically, you could use any hot sauce here, particularly if you have an assload of random sauces in your fridge that have been sitting there since the last time you went to a hipster farmer's market.
Flour, cornstarch, and panko bread crumbs. Yes, all three. Don't start.
Salt and seasonings of your choice. This one's up to you. Me, I like to use smoked paprika, garlic powder, red pepper flake, and sometimes chipotle chili powder.
1. In a resealable container of some variety (I use quart containers; if you don't know what those are, order a quart of soup from a Chinese place), throw in the chicken with enough buttermilk to cover, and enough hot sauce to turn the buttermilk pink. Or whatever color your hot sauce looks like combined with white. All a matter of preference. Shake vigorously until the chicken is well-coated and submerged in buttermilky goodness.
Why buttermilk? Not only is it viscous enough to absorb ridiculous amounts of flour and flour-like substance, the enzymes in buttermilk actually infiltrate the meat and begin breaking the fibers down. Also, the salt and flavorings from the hot sauce will, through the magic of osmosis, get into the actual flesh as time goes on rather than just sitting on the surface.
2. In another resealable container (again, quart container, though a gallon-sized Ziploc bag works well for larger batches), combine a 1:1:1 ratio of flour, cornstarch, and panko. It's important here not to go over 60-70% capacity of the container. You're going to be shaking your chicken in this mixture, and you can't shake if there's no room.
Flour adds body, cornstarch adds crunch, panko adds both. If you asked me why I say this is the golden ratio between the three, I wouldn't have an answer outside of "I've made a shit ton of fried chicken and this has turned out the best. Now stop asking questions and get off my lawn."
3. Season your dredge mixture. Salt, spices, herbs, whatever. Taste the flour. Yes, I'm serious. This is one thing that blows my mind about home cooks - if you blindly follow a recipe without tasting as you go, how do you know how the end product will taste like? The dredge should taste like how you want your crust to taste.
There are tons of cooks and chefs who will tell you to season your chicken, then dredge it to keep the spices from burning and to reduce the amount you need to use. After all, you're never going to use every last bit of the dredge. To them, I rebut: this is way easier.
4. Drizzle buttermilk into the dredge mixture, about a tablespoon at a time, stirring with your fingers or a fork to incorporate. This is the determining factor between a thin, weak crust and the rich, firm crunch of a crust that has strength. To tell if you've got enough in there, open the container, place your head directly in front of the opening, and give it a firm tap on the counter. If it doesn't explode in a cloud of Scarface-like dust all over your face, you've got enough in there.
Adding buttermilk directly to the dredge gives it a chance to clump together, exponentially increasing the amount of surface area on your crust. And this, when fried, is what makes for a heartier crunch in the end product.
5. Place both of these containers in the fridge and walk away. That's it. You're done with your prep work. If you stop at this point, you are about fifteen minutes away from fried chicken at any time. I've kept chicken like this up to a week.
I'm totally lying. I eat the first pack up inside a day or two, then keep restocking it with more thighs.
6. When it's go time, heat up a pan of oil. The pan should be wide enough to accomodate however much chicken you eat at a go without crowding, and you should have the oil at about 1/4" off the bottom. Preheat that oil while you grab your containers out of the fridge.
I reuse the pan and oil until the oil gets gross and filled with burnt bits. I just put a lid on it when not in use. Don't judge me. You don't know my life.
7. Take a thigh from the buttermilk and let it drip, then deposit it in the dredge container and shake the shit out of it to coat. Make sure it lies flat, or it'll clump up on you. You want the dredge mixture to get all up in that shit. If you're doing more than one piece of chicken, do them one at a time so they don't stick together.
I can do two thighs in the same container, but it takes practice. Also, I'm more clever than you. I'm not really. I didn't mean it.
8. Get the oil up to about 325. If you don't have a fancy infrared thermometer like I do, wet your hand and flick droplets of water on the oil from a distance. They should immediately sizzle and skitter across the surface.
I say 'about 325', but it doesn't really matter too much. Anywhere between 300 and 350 is fine. Outside that range, though, and it'll start messing with how much time you need to cook it.
9. Fry the chicken for four minutes on each side. This time will vary, depending on the size of your chicken, but I've found four minutes to be the optimal time for what I find around here. One minute before the end of side B, kill the heat. The oil's plenty hot.
Also, the oil will inevitably be smuttier on side B, which often leads to a darker crust on that side. Plus side B is starting at a higher temperature than side A by virtue of its proximity to hot oil for four minutes, which means it'll take less time to cook. Easing up on the gas pedal alleviates these issues.
10. Drain and devour like the savage you are.
I should note that this process works for boneless pork chops, too, if they're around 1/2" thick.
All this chicken talk is making me hungry. See you tomorrow, guys.
P. S. Invest in a fry screen. Trust me on this.
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