Then comes the clean-up, which is the villain of the story. The deep fryer is now a greasy, slippery mess, and the kitchen smells like a fast-food joint that’s had a long shift. You’ll have to deal with the oil later—strain it, store it, or take a deep breath and pour it into an old milk carton. But while you’re eating, none of that matters.
That’s the beauty of chicken in the deep fryer. It’s an event. It’s messy, loud, and a little dangerous, like a backyard fireworks show. But when you’re sitting there, gnawing on a perfectly crispy thigh with grease on your chin, you realize it was absolutely worth it. You’ve earned this. Now go get some more napkins.