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Fried Chicken FOR THE WIN! October 22, 2009

Posted by Toy Lady in random stuff.
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So.  I painted the kitchen last weekend.  While I was on vacation.  Because that’s what I do, I guess.

PhotobucketAnyway, that little project took a bit longer than I’d expected, as often happens when I start something ridiculous like that.

And when Peeps got home from work Saturday, absolutely famished, he came home to a virtually unusable kitchen, a distracted wife, and a slightly paint-speckled dog.

Hey, I TOLD the big oaf to stay out of the kitchen.

So it was determined that, while I got myself (and the kitchen) to the point where we  could break for lunch, Peeps would run up Ridge Road to the new, shiny KFC and bring home lunch, and off he went.

As an aside, remember that scene in Turner & Hooch where Tom Hanks meets the new vet, and he insists that she CAN’T just not finish painting the room?  Then, when it’s finally done, he doesn’t have a speck of paint on him?  Yeah, that’s me.  Oh, not the part about not getting a speck of paint on me – HA! – the part about not being able to stop until it’s done. It’s unfortunate, but what can I say?

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So anyway, the three of us (my brother got pressed into service painting) managed to put a hurting on a bucket of fried chicken.  A severe hurting.  As in, by the time we were done, there were two pieces left.

Yeah, I guess we were all pretty hungry, huh?

When Sunday breakfast rolled around, I knew I should do something nice, especially since we pretty much blew off dinner the night before, and I got to thinking about that leftover chicken.

You know, I hear that chicken and waffles is mighty popular in some parts of the country – sounds a little weird to me, but hey, garbage plates sounded weird too, until I tried them!  OK, they’re still weird, but in a not-horrible way.

PhotobucketMy waffle iron is . . . somewhere, I’m sure.  I’m just not quite sure exactly where (though I have an approximate idea).  Plus it only makes one waffle at a time.

There’s part of a quart of buttermilk in the fridge . . .

Breakfast + extra buttermilk = buttermilk pancakes, right?

PhotobucketOh, but not just any old buttermilk pancakes.  How does the idea of Orange Buttermilk Pancakes grab you?

I didn’t tell Peeps about the orange part, though.  Not until he was ready to tuck in.  Didn’t want to spoil the surprise, you know.

To make the pancakes, in  large bowl, combine:

  • 2-1/4 cups AP flour
  • 3 Tbsp. sugar
  • 1 Tbsp. baking powder
  • 1/2 tsp. salt
  • grated zest of one orange

PhotobucketIn a separate, smaller bowl, combine:

  • 1 cup orange juice
  • 1 cup buttermilk
  • 1 egg, lightly beaten
  • 2 Tbsp. vegetable oil

You know the rules of making pancake batter, right?  Stir the liquid mixture into the flour mixture until just barely combined.  Don’t over-mix it – a few lumps are actually better than over-mixed.

PhotobucketAnd again, you know the drill.  A ladle-full of batter on a lightly buttered griddle (around 325-350°) – hot enough for the drop of water test.  (Sprinkle a single drop of water on the griddle.  If it sits there, it’s not hot enough, if it immediately evaporates, it’s too hot, and if it dances like, well, a drop of water on a griddle, it’s just right.)

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Cook, lumps and all, until the tops are bubbly and the edges are slightly dry (1-2 minutes), then turn each pancake.  The bottom (now the top) should be perfectly GBD.  Finish cooking the other side, and there you have it – lovely, lovely, orange buttermilk pancakes!

And for the record, yes, they’re wonderful with a little butter, a splash of maple syrup, and some gently reheated fried chicken!  Who needs bacon?

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Comments

1. Mazco34 - October 22, 2009

I take it the old stick in the mud doesn’t like blueberry pancakes either?

* Actually, neither do I. Waste of good blueberries!

Peeps - October 22, 2009

Really? Old stick in the mud? Do I do that to you?

Mazco34 - October 22, 2009

Well. . .

It’s a lot easier once Mother Peeps gave me a lot of insight.

Peeps - October 23, 2009

Insight? From my mother? Seriously?

2. Toy Lady - October 22, 2009

Origami Freak says:
I beg to differ – garbage plates are weird in a deeply horrible way, LOL! (but then I’m from the SF Bay Area, and would rather have sashimi than just about anything…)

Sorry I lost your comment – I guess the thought of a hunk of raw tuna on a gob of rice just sort of . . . eeeew. 😉

origamifreak - October 22, 2009

LOL. That’s SUSHI.

For SASHIMI there’s no rice. Just a lovely “hunk” of raw fish, unadulterated and unadorned…
(Crap – that did it. Now I’m getting hungry…)

– Clearly, I’m not terribly knowledgeable about the whole “raw fish” genre. I figure fish is probably the reason our ancestors invented fire. . . 😉

3. anne - October 22, 2009

I’m glad I’m not the only one who wears the paint. I do a bit of painting for other people, and my DH can always tell what color I’ve been into that day. Or maybe that week. There is always one spot that I don’t get off, like on the back of the arm, where everyone can see it but me. Until about three days later, when either it wears off, or he mentions it.

Anne – exactly! I have an old (OLD) t-shirt I’ve worn for painting for years – it’s got paint from Surly Boy’s room when he was in about 1st grade, and everything I’ve painted, stripped or stained since then. It’s quite literally threadbare (with, apparently, a giant hole in the back – it’s drafty, too!). One of these days, I know it’s going to fall right off of me, and there I’ll be, in the middle of Home Depot, with my girly-stuff hanging out. But I just can’t seem to part with it. 🙄

4. Tracie - October 26, 2009

Oh, I love to paint and I get it all over me, and I can’t stop until I’m done, either, and I love chicken, but with pancakes I like pork chops, so I related to this post. And now I have to breathe. (Pause) I have “paint clothes” too, and my guys can paint in a tux if they had to and not get any on them. Not me…

– Pork chops with pancakes? So do you still use syrup? I’ll bet applesauce would be good. Hmmm. . .

And the worst is when I get paint in my hair and don’t notice until I (try to) comb it!


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