And then, the day came. It was our last full day in Nashville and I hadn’t cried from the heat of any meal yet. I skipped lunch, knowing that I had to get that burning bird! I hopped in an Uber immediately after our last class got done at 3:30, in hopes the never-ending line at Prince’s would be minimal between lunch and dinner. It wasn’t out the door yet, which I considered a win. After perusing the menu, I settled for a half-chicken. More food than a doctor would recommend, but I was HUNGRY. Then I had to decide the heat level. I like spicy food, but the heat here is legendary. Some say that even the mild can bring a bring a man to his knees. I got brave, and went with medium. What have I done?
Forty-five minutes later, my order was ready. I was prepared for the wait, and knew my patience would be rewarded. The tiny strip-mall hotspot didn’t have an open table, so I took it back to our loft. That’s probably for the best, since I don’t like crying in front of strangers. I took it up to our rooftop patio and unveiled this deep-fried Mona Lisa.
It was…in a word….beautiful.
Each piece of chicken rested on two slices of white bread, which served as a sponge to soak up the extra grease and seasoning. The bright red bird had pickle slices on top, which was presumably there to help cut the heat, and I had my tallboy of Yuengling to help put out the fire. I also had napkins. Lots of napkins.
I was ready.
The next 10 minutes were a blur. When I snapped back to reality, my plate was clean, my beer was empty, and my mouth was burning.
Medium turned out to be the perfect choice for my palate. Yes, it was spicy, but I could still taste the deep flavor that the cayenne and other spices brought to the culinary masterpiece. The breading was crisp, the meat was juicy, and my heart was full. I could understand why this was the recipe that so many chefs try to recreate. Well done, Prince’s.