Frying chicken at home is easier then you think here are some tips that can help you out, via New York Times.

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A simple recipe for and escarole salad with roast chicken, poached eggs, and lardons, via Martha Stewart.

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Roast chicken is a symbol, an emblem of easy exquisite home cooking, of cooking together. And really satisfying, nourishing food. The world is better on days when we roast a chicken for our family, friends (and lovers, of course—the best roast chicken of all). Which is why I’m posting another shot of one of our roast chickens. With hope. I’m cooking for a band of sailors prone to shouting “FUCK OFF!” at one another and then laughing uproariously. No roast chicken for them. Steak, lobster, pulled pork, and duck cooked in duck fat. (I cheated a bit by ordering these amazing ones from D’Artagnan; leftovers will become duck rillettes tonight; I have to get some work done, after all.) No better crowd to cook for, than these hearty blokes. …Ah, Key West… Other links you Read On »

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A year ago, my neighbor, Lois Baron, said she had to leave a party early to make schmaltz, as the High Holy days of the Jewish year approached and she was the cook in the family. Long having wanted to explore this oft-maligned fat, I asked for Lois’s help in understanding its history and use. (Almost everyone refers to it as “heart attack food,” but it’s not. It’s good for you! In moderation. Lois is in her 70s and cooks like a banshee, her husband Russell is in his 80s and still practices law, and Lois’s mom cooked schmaltz well into her 90s, though she wouldn’t admit it.) Schmaltz, rendered chicken fat flavored with onion, was such an odd topic, and so focused, it didn’t seem like a big-book idea, so Donna encouraged me to Read On »

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My dear old pal Blake, author of two superlative biographies of American authors, Richard Yates and John Cheever, and currently the authorized biography of Philip Roth, ended a recent email with “and send me that damned curry recipe.” Blake works very hard, both as a writer (he has not one, but two new books coming out, a memoir and a biography of Charles Jackson), and as a teacher at Old Dominion University. His wife, a psychologist, works as well. They have a young daughter, and provided they aren’t flooded out of their home in Virginia and their generator is working (weather tends to follow him—read his Slate stories on being a Katrina victim), one of them will be charged with putting dinner on the table tonight. Both he and Mary want their meal to be Read On »

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