Good morning. It’s been slow out here in the shallow water, looking for fish on pancakes of sand, by muddy banks, in rock piles where the tide sluices in and out, at spots with names known only to those who fish them: Cheney’s; Manny’s Place; Ethan Allen; Left Side; Derr’s Flat.
We stand on the boat, on a platform at the stern or on the softening deck in the bow, and we look. We stare. We see. Sometimes the fish come, sliding around happy in the middle of the outgoing tide: Cast! Other times they don’t, and eyes move up: an osprey, a wisp of cloud, a bald eagle, a flapping flag on a pole a mile away, an oystercatcher, a jetliner inbound from Europe, terns, oak trees, a congregation of glossy ibises flapping into a wedge above the marsh.
All this but my thoughts run, mostly, to dinner: the chicken I’ve got resting in a buttermilk bath for fried chicken (above), a father’s gift to himself, my favorite fried chicken recipe, hard-won over time.
Featured Recipe
Buttermilk Fried Chicken
I’d like it with mashed potatoes, green beans and a river of gravy. The gravy’s easily made: Just swirl a few tablespoons of the oil you’ve used to fry the chicken into a pan set over medium-low heat and, when it’s hot, add an equal amount of flour. Stir this around vigorously to rid the mixture of lumps, then cook until it’s just beginning to smell nutty. Add a splash of stock or white wine, stir again to combine, and then add milk or half and half, stirring all the while, until you’ve got something that looks like gravy, that coats the back of a spoon. Season aggressively with salt and black pepper, then thin it out if you need to with more stock or wine.
