In our teaser, Texas Chicken threw so much shade at a certain Goldspice chicken I thought it was gonna be SPICY.
But what I never knew was that I, as a Chinese, would be related to African Americans. But it’s real, people. The salted egg, and the ancestry.
My common ancestor with them is found… in our love for fried chicken.
Cue the music, baby, it’s fried chicken time
Duck salted eggs, spiced with chilli flakes and curry leaves, sprinkled on top of golden crispy fried chicken, brushed with a golden buttery sauce.
You excited? It’s fried chicken time, and you ain’t taking away a brotha from his fried chicken.
I tear open the juicy, tender, chicken and the hot steam carries the smell of salted egg into my noses, oozing out from the interiors and dripping dirty, dirty chicken fat blended with salty egg goodness unto my hands.
You can’t do this to a brotha, Texas. This is the forbidden baby of duck and chicken. The incestuous relationship that shouldn’t happen.
I wish you could smell what I’m smelling, Goody Feed readers.
Hmm, hmm!
You bite the chicken, and it bites you back. The crunch. The salt. The sweetness.
All I can say is:
dayum… Dayum… DAYUM! This, I want to say this is an official fried chicken. The feelings of doing messy things to the fried chicken can only be described by more black people gifs.
No words can describe this, brothas.
Some may find the sprinkles a little sweet, but the little kick from the spice, the savoury salty ducky goodness made tears flow down my cheeks. It’s a marriage of duck and chicken, Teochew and Texans, Texans and Blacks.
We are all connected. Through fried chicken.
And then, I turn to the popcorn chicken.
Salted Egg Chicken – 6/5.
Popcorn chicken – no golden sauce?
What is this? Texas Chicken? Where’s the sauce?
Is this a mistake?
This must be a mistake. There’s no golden sauce, no buttery shiny goodness. Only sadness is left. You’re leaving sad fried chicken divorced and stranded with lonely salted egg sprinkle. Fried chicken can’t raise up sprinkles alone without the sauce.
I bite into the popcorn chicken and was only left with something missing in my heart.
The sauce, man. It’s not there. It’s the same feeling when you go overseas and eat a meal from a rundown restaurant where you thought you might find a taste of home.
And then you shake your head, leaving the restaurant after one bite.
This isn’t home. It’s the taste of a broken family and disappointment after eating the amazing fried chicken.
It’s just not the same.
Popcorn Chicken – 1/5 (I believe someone forgot to brush the sauce…)
(To the real African Americans who happen to read this I’m sorry. I’m still in the phase of growing to accept my newfound ancestry of fried chicken.)
To the brothas and sistas joining in on FriedChickenFridays, remember to play nice with other fried chicken lovers:
If you watch at least 10 minutes of brain rot content daily, you must know this:
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