To subscribe:

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Fried Chicken Again

As I eat my fried chicken the galaxies continue to be pushed farther and farther apart in expanding space, one corner of the universe being so far away from the other so as to make both corners meaningless.  If I eat some excellent fried chicken why does a galaxy billions of light years away care?  This is an unsettling question, and I must continue eating fried chicken because if I do not, my mind would perhaps explode.  And would it matter in the other corner of the universe if my mind exploded?  It would be nice to think the explosion of a mind is like the explosion of a star or galaxy, but even the explosion of a galaxy does not matter in the opposite corner.  So let's say the explosion of a mind is like the explosion of the entire universe.  But even then, perhaps a new universe begins with no memory of the last one.  In other words, it doesn't matter if my mind explodes, but for some reason humans do not want their minds to explode.  All of this is to say I went to Peaches Hot House in Brooklyn last night for, yet again, fried chicken.  How was it?  It was pretty good.  The skin was very nicely crunchy, in a way that Root and Bone's skin was not the night before (although, as mentioned, Root and Bone's skin was crunchy the last time I had it).  The meat itself was not particularly flavorful if I recall correctly (and I very well may not be recalling correctly), but the crust was hot and crispy.  Perhaps the thing I enjoyed most was the fried green tomatoes with bacon.  But again, nothing or no one cares across the universe.

Peaches Hot House
Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn