Wings of Hypocrisy
This is a catchy title, but it's actually a recipe in honor of my friend Hippie Killer.
Sister Morpheme's HotWings of Hypocrisy
Baked, not fried, so rationalize at will. They are still horribly, horribly bad for you.
Liberally coat two half sheet pans with vegetable oil. Spread 3lbs. of frozen wings (sectioned, not whole) on pans in a single layer. Bake at 375 degrees for an hour, turning once. Crank up to 425 for an additional 10 min. or so to crisp. Toss with Going to Hell Sauce (see recipe below). Note: Wings should have an internal temperature of 165 degrees.
Going to Hell Sauce
1/2 stick butter or margarine
2 Tbsp olive oil
3-6 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 c. Red Hot (original, please)
juice & zest of one orange
1/3-1/2 c. honey
Melt butter over low heat. Add olive oil and allow to heat for 30 seconds. Add garlic and sautee until fragrant and starting to soften, approx. 2 minutes. Add Red Hot, orange juice, zest, and honey and simmer for 10-15 minutes over low heat, stirring occasionally.
Best enjoyed while drunk to alleviate any guilt over caloric intake. While you're binge-ing (that word just doesn't look right unhyphenated), chow some celery & carrot sticks to further the illusion that you're not doing anything bad. Serve with bleu cheese dip (recipe upon request).
All measurements are approximate. I don't measure anything.
Sister Morpheme's HotWings of Hypocrisy
Baked, not fried, so rationalize at will. They are still horribly, horribly bad for you.
Liberally coat two half sheet pans with vegetable oil. Spread 3lbs. of frozen wings (sectioned, not whole) on pans in a single layer. Bake at 375 degrees for an hour, turning once. Crank up to 425 for an additional 10 min. or so to crisp. Toss with Going to Hell Sauce (see recipe below). Note: Wings should have an internal temperature of 165 degrees.
Going to Hell Sauce
1/2 stick butter or margarine
2 Tbsp olive oil
3-6 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 c. Red Hot (original, please)
juice & zest of one orange
1/3-1/2 c. honey
Melt butter over low heat. Add olive oil and allow to heat for 30 seconds. Add garlic and sautee until fragrant and starting to soften, approx. 2 minutes. Add Red Hot, orange juice, zest, and honey and simmer for 10-15 minutes over low heat, stirring occasionally.
Best enjoyed while drunk to alleviate any guilt over caloric intake. While you're binge-ing (that word just doesn't look right unhyphenated), chow some celery & carrot sticks to further the illusion that you're not doing anything bad. Serve with bleu cheese dip (recipe upon request).
All measurements are approximate. I don't measure anything.
spoken by Sister Morpheme at 6:30 PM
3 Rants:
Oh man. We make wings almost exactly the same way. I MUST try the orange juice thing. Damn you.
I also find that wings are best served while watching a movie of questionable artistic merit--my all time favorite of which being Robocop. Best. Wing movie. Ever. Other wing movies inclued Rambo First Blood, Alien, Aliens, Basic Instinct, Star Trek First Contact or Wrath of Kahn.
As payback, here's my one piece of advice--line the cookie sheet or pan or whatever with foil to catch the mess, but don't bake directly on them. Get one of those handy but cheap wire cooling racks from Walmart--teflon coated if you can find one. Put that on the pan, oil, then bake wings on said rack. Open a window, 'cause the chicken fat's prob'ly gonna drip off and burn on the sheet pan.
The wings cook a little different this way--and I often find myself giving them a little broiler love at the last minute. but they seem to cook a little more evenly, and don't stick to the pan. I guess.
Baked wings taste so much better than deep fried wings, I think.
Oh man, remember that time we all drank miller lite, listened to haggard and ate bw3 spicey garlic wings off fiesta ware at the trailer?
Good fucking times.
Good times.
Did I tell you I got so drunk that night that I was convinced someone was breaking into my house, ran outside with a hammer, & started screaming & beating the ground with the hammer? (Crazy trumps greedy.) I left the window open & our cat Skeeter got out. The next day I was worried sick about him until he reappeared, and spent probably an hour wondering why there was dirt caked all over the hammer.
Damn, I miss my 20s.
I just remembered some more about that night. I thought someone was breaking in because I woke up and the window was open--that's how Skeeter got out. Said window was open because I had lost my keys and broke in by climbing on the, whatsitcalled, trailer hitch thingie, and climbing through my bedroom window.
Ah, alcohol. The great intellectual equalizer.
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