Fry Guy

Stop back here later today to hear the thrilling tale of how our brave hero learns how to cook chiken wings with a deep fryer. Will he survive? Will his cholesterol levels? Will the dentist find any cavities? You’ll have to stop back here and see later today.

***UPDATE***

OK, I’m back. Didn’t have any cavities, and the weather on my hour drive to the dentist was agreeable. Can’t ask for more than that.

Anyhow, back to the frying. We got a deep fryer as a wedding present. This was nearly six years ago. This will amaze you, especially those of you in the South, we in all that time we have never attemped to use the fryer. I’m not really sure why. Part of it is we have no place to store it, so it went up to the attic. The attic is where neglected appliances go to die.

Anyhow, my wife bought some uncooked chicken wings yesterday, on a “we just got paid we can now replace the cobwebs in the refrigerator with real food” shopping trip. She even bought at the grocery store some breading for the wings made by the restaurant with the “owl theme”. Anyhow, she had them all breaded up when I got home. I picked up some hot wing sauce on my way and we were in business.

Well, we weren’t yet.  We couldn’t figure out at first how much oil to put in the fryer.  Then we turned on the lights in the kitchen and right there on the inside was a min and max line for the oil. Oops. We only spent a half hour on that.

Eventually we figured everything out and got the wings cooked and put on the sauce and all that. They turned out great. Too great actually. And too easy. This is not good. I think I’m gonna start frying everything now. Fried apples, fried strawberries, fried pizza.  I may not survive it, but it will be delicious.

In conclusion, don’t be afraid to use a new appliance and it’s never too late to try.  Now, where is that gravy boat somebody got us for our wedding…

Here Comes The Rain Again

It’s raining again today. Not too sad about it, really. It’s a nice change of pace from the stifling 85 degree weather of last week. Plus, I’m stuck inside at work anyhow.

As I was driving into work I passed by a couple road construction workers, a guy and a girl, who didn’t seem at all concerned about the rain. That illustrates an idea that I hadn’t given much thought to before, but makes a lot of sense now that I do.

For me, at least, my reaction to getting caught in the rain depends on the situation.  I mean, if I got caught in a downpour without my umbrella on my walk into work, I’m pretty sure it would ruin my day.  Sitting at my desk as my clothes and hair slowly air dry does not seem appealing at all.

Other times, being in the rain is not bad at all. My mind drifts back in my memory to my days playing soccer. This particular memory is from when I was in my early twenties, playing in an adult league. The game was in DuBois, PA, a town most would probably consider small, but is like a city compared to my hometown. It rained most of the day, but as long as it wasn’t thundering, the game would go on.

The field (the pitch for all you purists) was completely soaked. Not only was it soaked, but there were puddles everywhere. We’re talking Central Pennsylvania here, a place where soccer doesn’t have the highest regard. It isn’t football after all. None of the fields we played on were level, or without dips, or even well groomed.

Anyhow, play was rough that day. You’d attempt to dribble the ball and all of a sudden you would hit a puddle and the ball would just stop. It was like playing against an invisible 12th opponent. And your feet would get waterlogged, as your socks and shoes would retain water. I was having fun, though, because I was playing soccer. I would go back to that field at that particular time in a heartbeat if I could.

Without any real way to control the ball, skill was eliminated from the game. It was pretty clear that whoever was able to score a goal was most likely to win the game. And so it was, late in the game, the ball sitting on a puddle in front of the goal in a puddle, like a huge golf ball on a tee.  Being in the right place at the right time, I ran up to the ball and without falling on my backside, I kicked it into the net.

That wound up being the deciding score indeed. The 40 minute car ride home (I was still in college at the time living at home in the summers), sitting on trash bags placed over the car seats by my parents, was no doubt a happy one as we had squeaked out a win.   It was one of those times that the rain didn’t bother me a bit. Although, now that I think about it, those brave souls that came out to watch the game in the rain  might very well have had a different experience.