To most Southerners, the mere mention of fried chicken conjures very specific flavor and tactile expectations. There are brines, almost always of buttermilk, which lead to juicy flesh. And there is seasoned crust, in thick and thin versions, with nubs and ridges that hopefully cast off excess oil to remain relatively greaseless and crisp. Sometimes there's a breathtaking drizzle of honey that falls in golden, sticky strands, or a sprinkling of piquant vinegar or, for the ultimate in coronary masochism, a ladle of black pepper gravy. And there are biscuits — there... More >>>