Free Fried Chicken by John T. Edge

sunsets airbrushed on the walls, voodoo candles on the tables, plastic alligators screwed to weathered window frames—give Leslie pause. Nowadays, he focuses his attention upon the task at hand, upon what’s burbling in his deep fryer. But every couple of weeks, a reporter or savvy eater seeks him out, bent upon learning the secret of his fried chicken. Many are enticed by rumors that Leslie dips the chicken in a batter made with a brand of condensed milk that is available only in Orleans Parish. When a pilgrim presents himself and asks the question, though, Leslie just holds out his flour-covered hands for inspection, palms down then palms up. “The secret’s in here,” he tells them. “The secret’s in here.”
    Creole Fried Chicken with New Orleans Confetti
    NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
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    This recipe owes its inspiration to Austin Leslie. Since he began frying chicken in the 1960s, admirers have argued over how to replicate his mastery of poultry. Unlike Willie Mae Seaton of Willie Mae’s Scotch House in New Orleans, he is a devotee of deep-frying. As for Leslie’s chosen ingredients, I’ve heard at least a dozen wild guesses, including a marinade of clam juice. Austin Leslie is part of the problem, since over the years he has given his name to a number of variations. I’ve tried to synthesize the best of the bunch. Though I did not embrace clam juice as a possibility, I did find that condensed milk gave the chicken a pleasant richness.
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    â–  1 chicken weighing 3 to 4 pounds (the
smaller, the better), cut into 8-10 pieces
■ 2 tablespoons salt
■ 2 tablespoons black pepper
■ 2 tablespoons Cajun seasoning (I like Tony
Chachere’s.)
■ 1 egg, beaten
( continued )
■ 1 can (12 ounces) unsweetened
condensed milk
■ 1 cup water
■ Peanut oil
■ 1 cup all-purpose flour
■ 10 slices dill pickle
■ 1 garlic clove, chopped very fine
■ 1 bunch parsley, chopped fine
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    Sprinkle salt, pepper, and Cajun seasoning over chicken and refrigerate at least 1 hour, as many as 24. Mix egg, condensed milk, and water in a bowl. Pour oil into pot to a depth of at least 3 inches and heat to 375°. Dip chicken pieces into egg wash, then dredge in flour. Shake off excess flour and slip chicken into hot oil, starting with the dark meat. Cook, maintaining a temperature of between 325° and 350°, for 12 minutes, or until an internal thermometer registers 170° for dark meat, 160° for white meat. Drain on a wire rack for 10 minutes, and garnish each piece with a pickle slice and confetti of garlic and parsley. Serves 4.
    Coop d’Etat
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    when we tell the story of our country, we tend to focus on the big names, the men and women whom historians and the popular press have decreed proxies for the whole unseemly lot of us. Who won the Civil War? Abraham Lincoln. To whom do we owe the fruits of the civil rights movement? Martin Luther King, Jr.
    The same applies to many of our totemic foods. We often tell the story of hamburgers by way of Ray Kroc and McDonald’s, the story of hot dogs by way of a Coney Island man named Nathan. I need not remind you what name we invoke when we talk of fried chicken.
    But there are a thousand other stories out there worth telling: tales of cooks who fed the civil rights movement, who fed both Confederate and Union combatants during the Civil War, who, over the course of a career, did nothing more (and nothing less) than feed their patrons skillet after skillet of peerless fried chicken. Despite his brush with fame, Austin Leslie is one of those people. And so was Lyndell Burton of Atlanta, whose story follows.

NINE

    Deacon Burton and His Atlanta Flock
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    the Deacon received his public while stationed at the end of the serving line, in front of the cash register. A rack of Rolaids to his right, trays of plastic cutlery to his left. And always, within