Take these broken wings and learn to fry. "Spatchcock." The chicken spoke quietly, but distinctly. "Spatchcock," it said a little louder, a calm voice emanating from the chiller section of Lidl. I stopped in front of it and considered things for a moment. I'd wanted to make some sort of bulgar wheat chickpea salad thing … Continue reading Spatchcock Chicken in the Dead of Night.
Student Cuisine for the Gloomy Teen 