Alex loves the Chicken Man.
For the of us who are a bit older than 5, the Chicken Man is more accurately known as the delivery person on any given evening from Gold Rush Chicken, 3500 S. Howell Ave.
Yes, I know, health-wise, Chicken Man is probably a mere half step from my lamented fast food chains, but Alex loves it, and so do Scott and Nick, and after an experimental evening in the kitchen last fall with me, a large cut-up chicken, a ruined apron, a tremendous headache and a grease streaked face, I caved for good.
Fried chicken is not a dish I care to make at home from scratch, and even though Paula Dean claims all you have to do is toss the chicken from paper bag to hot grease filled pan and voilà! I found it to be much easier to dial-up Chicken Man.
Besides, Gold Rush on Howell does a darn good fried chicken, not greasy, and enough fries to placate a salty craving but not leave you with that icky overstuffed sluggish feeling that usually comes with encapsulated grease-filled potatoes. In under an hour, it beats my endeavors by a good 90 minutes.
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