FRIED CHICKEN IN A PRESSURE COOKER - FRIED CHICKEN IN

FRIED CHICKEN IN A PRESSURE COOKER - BEST WAY TO COOK BEEF JOINT

Fried Chicken In A Pressure Cooker


fried chicken in a pressure cooker
    pressure cooker
  • A highly stressful situation or assignment
  • autoclave for cooking at temperatures above the boiling point of water
  • An airtight pot in which food can be cooked quickly under steam pressure
  • Pressure cooking is a method of cooking in a sealed vessel that does not permit air or liquids to escape below a preset pressure.
  • Pressure Cooker claims to be Boston’s original old-school reggae band. The group formed in 1997 with a shared passion of Jamaican ska, rocksteady, and reggae music of the sixties and seventies.
    fried chicken
  • Fried chicken (also referred to as Southern Fried chicken) is chicken pieces usually from broiler chickens which have been floured or battered and then pan fried, deep fried, or pressure fried. The breading adds a crispy coating or crust to the exterior.
    in a
  • (IN-AS) Assam (Assamese: ??? Oxom ) is a northeastern state of India with its capital at Dispur located in the city of Guwahati.
  • previous part of Lesson 1, work was defined as a force acting upon an object to cause a displacement. When a force acts to cause an object to be displaced, three quantities must be known in order to calculate the work.

H and me.
H and me.
During the First World War, I suffered some lung damage from mustard gas, and was sent to a hospital for treatments where I received some inhalation therapy of something new for us vets, opium and camphor inhalation. It felt pretty good, and I got a nice glow after the treatments that made me forget about the pain. After a couple of years, the doc came to see me and said I was almost cured, but they had done all they could for me, and suggested I get a job that involved a lot of fresh air and physical activity. That would finish my cure, he said. I left the hospital and had a series of odd jobs, until I saved a little money and bought a 1927 Indian Chief motorcycle. A work of art in red and black enamel paint, and an engine that purred better than any of those painted women I met in Paris. I saw Europe during the war, but I was still just a country kid who hadn’t seen any of the other states except the one I was born in, and the one where I received my military training. “Fresh air” I remember the doc saying. No better way to get that than a cross-country motorcycle trip I thought, and so, my adventures started. I ran out of money somewhere in Kentucky, and had to stop and get a job working the barges before I could continue my trip. That’s where I met Harland Sanders, “H” to those close to him. We became fast friends, and traded stories about work and women, and experiences we had on shore leave from the barges. One night when we were on hiatus, he invited me over to his house for dinner. After dining on fried chicken, mashed ’taters and gravy and sweet tea, we retired to the porch to sample some fine Kentucky bourbon. “Great dinner your mama cooked there H”, I said. “Why thanks” he said lighting a slim cigar and blowing out a thin stream of blue smoke that hovered around his head, catching the moonlight. “But my mama didn’t cook that meal” he said. “ I did” “No barge hand I know cooks like that” I said. “That was a damn fine meal, except that the gravy could have used a little more black pepper. People would pay for a meal like that.” “That’s what I was thinkin’”, he said. “I was thinking about opening a cafe and getting off the river. I’m ‘sperimentin’ with a new process that involves a pressure cooker and cuts down the cooking time for a chicken to just minutes instead of almost an hour. Seals in the flavor, too”, he said. We toasted his idea, and I left the next morning, losing touch with him over the years as I pursued my fresh air travels and total recovery. My life took a series of twists and turns, and I ended up doing some top secret work for the government…several of them. Some called me a mercenary, but I knew I was just following doctor’s orders. In any event, I was out of the country for several years, meeting interesting people, earning a living, and trying to regain my health. While on an extend tour of duty one year, I found myself in England on a top-secret assignment having a bit of fish and chips at a small pub, watching a fried chicken commercial between soccer matches on the telly with a man as a logo that look vaguely familiar, when a man approached me. “ I’ll buy you a pint for your story”, he said. “I don’t have a story”, I said, “I’m just having dinner.” “Right”, he said with a smile. “Everyone in here has a shoulder holster.” I looked down, and closed my coat, and having never turned down an opportunity for a free beer, I nodded and followed him to his table. “Fleming” he said holding out his hand, “ Ian Fleming.” He was an author looking for inspiration to write a book, and was intrigued with firearms, secret government missions and adventure. After several pints, he said he’d like to use me as a model for a character in his books…some kind of secret agent. It was O.K. with me; his guy was going to be British after all, no way to trace his stories back to me. After that assignment, I drifted for several years; South America, The old Soviet Union, Bosnia…all the hot spots. Finally, it was time to come home. I came back to the U.S, and didn’t realize that I had been gone so long. It was crowded, noisy, and garish. I wanted to go back down south and see my friend H and have some of his fried chicken. In 2 days, I had my affairs settled and was on the road again back to Corbin, Kentucky, back to see my friend that I remembered from simpler times. I pulled into town, and signs directed me to his place, the Sanders Cafe. I smiled, happy that he had followed his dream and opened his own place. I walked in and went to the counter girl where I asked if I could see H. “Pardon me?” she said. “Yeah, I said, “You know, Harland Sanders, the owner.” “Oh” she said, “the colonel…I’m sorry sir”, she smiled a little, “but he’s been dead for several years.” “Oh” I said, “ I’ve been out of the country for a long time, and we kind of lost touch…we were good friends.” “You’ve held you age well", she said with a little grin. I used to get that a lot, being the mo
College pressure cooker
College pressure cooker
YOUNG chefs demonstrated their amazing skills in cooking under pressure during West Cheshire College’s first ever Hell’s Kitchen competition. Based on Gordon Ramsay’s popular TV programme, the student chefs were split into two teams to see which one could create the best meal for a restaurant full of paying guests. And to add to the tension, video links were set up between the College’s Bridge Bistro and the kitchens so diners could watch while their meals were prepared. Chef tutor Julie Hinde said: “As soon as catering students join us we put them into a realistic environment and as their courses progress, so does the responsibility they take on. “Hell’s Kitchen gave us a chance to add just a little more pressure to the cooking environment. “They developed their own menus, prepared and cooked all the food. Feedback from the diners was excellent and we are really pleased with the way they met to the challenge.” Among the delicacies on offer were pan fried scallops, chicken kofta kebabs, pork loin stuffed with sage and prune, wild mushroom ravioli in a champagne sauce, two nut chocolate torte and New York style cheesecake. Julie said: “It was the diners who decided the winning team and it turned out to be it was an absolute dead heat between the two teams – a great result because they both worked so hard.” The Bridge Bistro, on the College’s Chester Campus, opens to the public on Tuesday to Friday evenings each week during term time. To find out more about special events or to book a table call 01244 670641.

fried chicken in a pressure cooker
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