If you asked the 7-year-old me back in 1973, my favorite thing to eat in the whole wide world was the two-piece fried chicken dinner from Roy Rogers (it’s where I had my birthday party that year). I’d tear into that crispy sheath of skin, toss the fried floury coating into my mouth like popcorn, then work my way all down to the bones. It was gustatory bliss every time, and a world removed from the rubber chicken breasts regularly served at home.
My mom was a member of the white meat-only club, which means I didn’t get to know the mysterious chicken thigh until I went to college. I could hardly believe it when I got my hands on my first chicken thigh; it actually tasted like chicken! I never turned back.
No matter which part of the bird you’re partial to, you probably know that chicken (as well