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by Thomas Keller. I bought the book based on rave reviews of Keller’s chicken, which is brined and air-dried before it is dipped in multiple coatings and fried. The effort paid off; the recipe did not disappoint. To go with that incredible chicken—because you can’t serve fried chicken without fixins—I mashed potatoes and baked biscuits. There was a salad in there somewhere, too. Frying chicken is messy and nerve-racking because oil spatters and spits and stings your forearms and you have to do it at the last minute, which is also when you’re mashing potatoes and pulling biscuits out of the oven and pouring glasses of water and calling to everyone that dinner is ready. Leave it in the pan too long, and the chicken is ruined; take it out too soon and it’s a health hazard. You really have to be up for the logistical challenge.

And fried chicken comes with baggage: You expect fried chicken to be so good that people lick their fingers. Literally. You expect people to linger at the table and loosen their belts, lean back in their chairs, tell stories, pull out a bottle of corn likker. You expect people to somehow recognize that this isn’t a meal like all other meals.

Sometimes all of that will happen.

Sometimes it will not.

By the time we sat down, I was bleak with exhaustion, everyone else was ravenous, and we put away that chicken in about ten minutes flat. The coating formed a crispy sheath around meat that, thanks to brining, was juicy and flavorful through to the bone. The potatoes were a celestial cloud of starch and butter; the biscuits, perfection. But I don’t remember a thing anyone said; I don’t remember anyone lingering at the table or thanking me or recognizing that the meal was special or iconic or hanging around afterward to drink corn likker. Soon I was left with plates of picked-over bones and a ravaged kitchen. One of these days I will forget the evening ever happened. I suspect Mark and our children already have. But that night we ate KFC on the sofa and watched The Two Towers? That, we will never forget.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that the symbols of wholesome domestic happiness—hot biscuits, a platter of home-fried free-range chicken, a family sitting around a table—are not domestic happiness. The family sitting in front of the TV with the bucket may be experiencing more joy and grace and love. Or, of course, they may not be.

This is Thomas Keller’s recipe, streamlined.

Make it or buy it? There’s no easy answer to this one.

Hassle: Epic

Cost comparison: It costs just about twice as much to home-fry your chicken as to buy a 10-piece bucket from KFC—and that’s not even factoring in the three large sides they throw in to sweeten the deal.

BRINE

5 lemons, halved

½ cup honey

2 cups kosher salt

Two 3-pound chickens

Neutral vegetable oil or lard, for frying

COATING

6 cups all-purpose flour

¼ cup garlic powder

¼ cup onion powder

1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon sweet smoked paprika

1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 quart buttermilk

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

⅓ cup hot sauce

1. Combine the brine ingredients with 2 gallons water in a big pot and bring to a boil. Boil for 1 minute. Remove from the heat and cool completely. Chill.

2. The morning of the day you plan to eat, cut the chickens into 10 pieces each (2 wings, 2 legs, 2 thighs, and 4 breast pieces; put the back in the freezer in a labeled bag for future use in making stock). Drop the chicken into the brine. Soak for up to 12 hours but, says Keller, no longer, lest the chicken become too salty.

3. Remove the chicken from the brine and rinse under cold water. Pat dry, lay out on a rack over a baking sheet, and let sit at room temperature for 2 hours.

4. In a large sturdy pot, start heating the fat; it should reach about 2 inches up the side of the pot.

5. Meanwhile, combine the coating ingredients in a large bowl. Transfer half