Fried Chicken Quotes

“Ain’ no Black people need no therapists, ’cause we don’ be havin’ those mental issues. OCD, ADD, PTSD, and all those other acronyms they be comin’ up with every day. I’m tellin’ you, the only acronyms Black folk need help with is the NYPD, FBI, CIA, KKK, and KFC, ’cause I know they be puttin’ shit in those twelve-piece bucket meals to make us addicted to them. All that saturated fat, sodium.”
― Mateo Askaripour, Black Buck

“In Louisiana, one of the first stages of grief is eating your weight in Popeyes fried chicken. The second stage is doing the same with boudin. People have been known to swap the order. Or to do both at the same time.”
― Ken Wheaton, Sweet as Cane, Salty as Tears

“We pass Tinsley's Fried Chicken with the big sign that reads, TRY OUR BIG, JUICY BREASTS.”
― Donna Cooner, Skinny

“Easy for you to say," Polly said. "You've lived here all your life and stayed under the radar. No one points at you."
"Sometimes small children point at my butt," Aunt Rhea said. "But that's just on account of all the fried chicken.”
― Kathy Hepinstall, The Book of Polly

“This wrap! It's made of rice!
Now I get it... it's a variation on a Bánh Xèo!"
BÁNH XÈO
Literally meaning "Sizzling Cake," it is a Vietnamese rice-flour pancake.
The batter is made from rice flour, water, coconut milk and other ingredients and is then spread thinly and fried like a crepe.
Once cooked, ingredients like pork, shrimp, and bean sprouts are folded inside.
I see the concept behind this dish now!
It's mixing piping-hot rice with juicy fried chicken!
Fried chicken and rice have always been a golden combination.
Here they've recreated that in a form that's easy to eat on the go and just as delicious.
And they even managed to do it in an innovative and eye-catching way!”
― Yuto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 5 [Shokugeki no Souma 5]

“She leaned over the basket again, taking in the mouthwatering aromas wafting out of it. "Fried chicken? Oh, I'm thinking buttermilk fried chicken?"
Dylan was once again amused. "How do you do that?"
"I like food."
"You don't say."
"And I love Southern fried chicken." She tried to open the basket, and he tapped her hand jokingly.
"Sit," he said.
And she did, crossing her legs and plopping down on the blanket.
Opening the basket and playing waiter, Dylan began removing flatware and plates and red-checkered napkins, and then wrapped food. "For lunch today in Chez Orchard de Pomme, we have some lovely cheese, made from the milk of my buddy Mike's goat Shelia." He removed the plastic wrap, which covered a small log of fresh white cheese on a small plate, and handed it to her.
Grace put her nose to the cheese. It was heavenly. "Oh, Shelia is my new best friend."
"It's good stuff. And we have some fresh chili corn bread. The corn, I think, is from Peter Lindsey's new crop, just cut out from the maze, which is right down this hill." He motioned with his head toward the field, and then he handed her a big loaf of the fresh corn bread wrapped loosely in wax paper.
"It's still warm!" Delighted, she held it to her cheek.
Then he pulled out a large oval Tupperware container. "And, yes, we have Dolly's buttermilk fried chicken."
Grace peeled open the top and smelled. "Fabulous."
"It is!"
He also pulled out a mason jar of sourwood honey, a sack of pecans, and a couple of very cold bottles of a local mountain-brewed beer.”
― Jeffrey Stepakoff, The Orchard

“When it came to the frying of chicken, they took pity on the captors and incorporated the seasonings and spices of Africa- garlic, melegueta pepper, cloves, black peppercorns, cardamom, nutmeg, turmeric and even curry powder. They forgave them their cruelty and presented them with what can only be described as a gift born in sorrow.
Food has the ability to move people in this manner. It can inspire bravery.
These kitchen slaves could have been beaten for this insolence, or perhaps even killed for such an act, but they served their fried fowl anyway. Not surprisingly, their captors were entranced by it. Soon southern fried chicken became a delicacy enjoyed by both cultures- it was the one point where both captors and captive found pleasure, although the Africans were only allowed to fry the discarded wings of the bird for their own meals. Despite the continued injustice, it was an inspired and blessed act of subversion.
Although born in slavery, this dish has not only brought together an entire region of people, it has transformed them. It is, as the Americans say, "democratic," and is now enjoyed by people of all walks of life and all parts of the country.”
― N.M. Kelby, White Truffles in Winter

“ It starts with chicken thigh meat cut into big, thick chunks. They're then set to marinate for the morning in a Nikumi- Original Marinade featuring soy sauce and cayenne pepper.
"Breading done."
"Thanks!"
"Man, the smell of this chicken deep-frying is so good, it's making me hungry!"
"Is it done yet? I wanna eat!"
After the chicken breast has been fried not once but twice...
... it, along with lettuce leaves and other leafy herbs...
... is all wrapped up in our special, freshly cooked wrap!
Some of our "Secret Chili Sauce" (which has a dash of Thai Nam Pla in it for flavor)...
... and a sprinkling of fresh cracked black pepper top it all off! ”
― Yuto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 5 [Shokugeki no Souma 5]

“After menu meeting came a delicious family meal: fried chicken with honey pecan butter, mashed potatoes, coleslaw. As Adrienne slathered her fried chicken with butter she thought happily of all the money she would save on food this summer.”
― Elin Hilderbrand, The Blue Bistro

“Well, speaking of supper, let's get it underway," she proposed. "Is there any meat in the house?"

"There's plenty of chickens in the chicken house out back," Sam responded. "I'll get Aaron to help me, and we'll kill a couple of roosters."

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Margaret. "Well, that will be fresh chicken, for sure!”
― Sarah Brazytis, The House on Harmony Street

“Those body bags kept piling up.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think about it. I still can’t eat fried chicken.”
― Sarah Lotz, The Three

“Because a superior fried-chicken restaurant is often the institutional extension of a single chicken-obsessed woman, I realize that, like a good secondhand bookstore or a bad South American dictatorship, it is not easily passed down intact.”
― Calvin Trillin

“It was still hard for her to believe what was happening. One moment she was eating fried chicken and the next there was a full-blown riot on the street. The rest was like a crazy roller coaster ride from hell.”
― Jason Medina, The Manhattanville Incident: An Undead Novel

“Turning a corner, she encountered the smell of fried chicken. One of the test kitchens had been working on a new product for a fast-food client, developing a proprietary sauce for a new kind of sandwich to compete with one KFC had recently brought to market. It had no bun, but rather two pressed chicken segments deep-fried in a shortening of processed lard and beef fat, wrapped around thick shingled bacon and a slice of provolone, and smothered in this hydrogenated oil-based sauce.”
― Jeffrey Stepakoff, The Orchard

“She serves us, pouring the iced tea into red plastic cups, piling chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and a couple of biscuits each onto our plates. It's an almost entirely brown meal. Mama would say it needs a colorful vegetable to complete it, but brown or not, it tastes good. Salty and hot, except for the tea of course, which is cold and sweet.”
― Susan Rebecca White, A Place at the Table

“One Sunday a girl from our study group, Jenny, invited us all to her mom's house in Hyde Park for a true Sunday Soul Food Dinner. Jenny's mom, Billie, a tiny woman with skin the color of café au lait, and silvery hair in a perfect chignon, laid out a soul food spread that brought a tear to the eye. Barbecue ribs, macaroni and cheese, collard greens with ham hocks, bread dressing, green beans, biscuits, candied sweet potatoes, creamed corn, and in the center of the table, a huge pile of fried chicken. I had never tasted anything like that fried chicken. The perfect balance of crisp batter to tender juicy meat. Everything that day was delicious, but the fried chicken was transcendent.”
― Stacey Ballis, Good Enough to Eat

“Never having been anywhere near fried chicken, we heard little else during the day except that a Negro woman from the South who lived in Colchester started to prepare it right after lunch. For the dinner, which attracted dozens of visitors, the med students spruced up with white shirts and black pants. They carried out steaming platters of plump golden chicken with a crunchy skin we could sink our teeth into, along with two sugar holders filled with golden honey to be poured over the chicken. A golden dinner: chicken, honey, corn, cornbread.”
― Eleanor Widmer, Up from Orchard Street

“Oh, is that left over from Shine? I do hope we won't have to eat the food you served to a convicted murderer," Whitney says, clutching her pearls.
"He was a triple murderer and he ordered fried chicken," I say. Whitney and her Gang of Idiots are actually taken aback.
"Even for you, Queenie Wake, that's low," Piggy Peggy says, looking from Whitney to me. Yes, Peggy, you delivered your line perfectly.
"You'd know," I say, stepping forward. She flinches.”
― Liza Palmer, Nowhere But Home

“How do you get the chicken this crispy?" I asked. The meal was a mixture of the saltiest and crunchiest fried chicken and the buttermilkiest and sweetest waffles and syrup.
"Oil," Auntie Gina said. "You want your breading like this, you've got to fry it in rivers of oil."
We talked a little bit more about how Harry liked to squeeze a blop of syrup from the bottle on each bite of chicken and waffle just so he could get the exact amount of maple flavor, and everybody laughed.”
― Jen Nails, One Hundred Spaghetti Strings

“King's Hot Chicken Shack didn't exactly scream "romantic," not that I was looking for that. Clearly Daniel wasn't. The shack conveyed something entirely different, with its HOT! HOT! HOT! neon sign and posters of cartoony squawking chickens taped to the window.
Nearly all of the items offered on the menu were similar to other hot chicken places I loved, like Prince's and Hattie B's, and most were foods you picked up with your hands, a second clue that Daniel was definitely not inclined to romantic thoughts. Hot chicken nuggets, tenders, wings, quarters, and halves. Waffle fries. Curly fries. Buttered corn on the cob. All of it sounded delicious... and very platonic.
Like Flora's coffee shop, this place had an extensive menu, plus way too many heat levels for the average fried chicken consumer: plain, mild, medium, hot, hot, X hot, XX hot, XXX hot, and the ultimate heat: "hot like motherclucking hell!”
― Suzanne Park, So We Meet Again

“Good fried chicken was remarkably hard to come by in New York, but this---tender, with just enough crust-only bits protruding, skin peeling easily away from the meat---this was good. The fries were thin and still hot, some with crunch, some with bite, lightly sprinkled with the salt blend they'd always used. The biscuits were fresh and flaky, and the salad's iceberg lettuce was dressed in Mimi's trademark sweet oil dressing---a closely guarded (but really very simple, and once very common) recipe.”
― K.J. Dell'Antonia, The Chicken Sisters

“Parmesan cheese?" Miller said. "We're not cooking Italian food."
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, keep grating it, and when you're done, whisk it into those eggs. Now you know the secret ingredient of our fried chicken."
Once the dredging pans were ready, I showed the young cooks through the four steps. They watched me closely. Ben, sweet baby--- bless him--- wrote everything down. The first step was to dry the chicken pieces with a paper towel, so they were tacky but not wet. This would enable the seasoning to stick to them. The secret here was not to salt too far in advance, because although salt helped enhance flavor, it also dried out meat. The second step was to dredge it in the flour mixed with cayenne pepper. After you shook off the excess flour, you put it into the mixture of eggs and grated Parmesan cheese. Finally, you dunked it into a second flour mixture that contained enough freshly ground black pepper to turn the mixture gray. This chicken was, as the kids say, fire, meaning it was so good. Its heat was balanced with the Parmesan cheese.”
― Victoria Benton Frank, My Magnolia Summer

“I went outside into the alley behind the restaurant next to a dumpster and ate the rest of the chicken myself. It was damn good. It was perfectly fried and moist. You could taste the gentle hints of thyme and cayenne pepper I had used in the buttermilk last night to brine it. It was perfectly seasoned and crunched with every bite. The collards that she totally ignored were tender and rich with vinegar and bacon.”
― Victoria Benton Frank, My Magnolia Summer

“Afterward, Marvina and I fried the chicken, and, I tell you, all hell broke loose when Kerresha tasted the meat.
"Oh my God! Holy Jesus and Guadalupe Mary!"
Before Marvina could ask her to stop using the Lord's name in vain, Kerresha leaned back in her chair and feigned a heart attack. "Oh my God! Mmm, mmm mmmmm! Where? What kind of voodoo did you put in this chicken?"
"Ain't no voodoo here in this house," Marvina bucked.
"Yes! There is!" Kerresha licked her fingers. "I promise you. On God." She put a hand on her heart. "This chicken just took me back to the spiritual power of the ancestors."
Marvina was so flattered she couldn't be mad. We both looked at each other and laughed, because, truth be told, this was exactly the reaction people gave the first time they tasted Momma's seasoning on expertly fried chicken.
"Y'all." Kerresha raised both hands in the air like she was getting happy in a holiness church. "Is it the grease? The seasoning? Chickens raised by unicorns?"
"It's the seasoning," my sister and I said simultaneously.
Kerresha swallowed another bite. "Whatever y'all put in that seasoning is a miracle. A double miracle, since it also has the power to make y'all finally both agree on something.”
― Michelle Stimpson, Sisters with a Side of Greens

“Most people see a boarded-up Church's Chicken and they panic, thinking, "I shouldn't be in this neighborhood. I've got to leave immediately." But that's just what The Government wants you to believe. These are all secret entrances to The Underground Tunnel System.”
― Jarod Kintz, A Memoir of Memories and Memes