F. Fowler - Fifty Shades of Chicken

15 chicken wings (about 3 pounds), patted very dry with paper towels

8 strips bacon

1 In a large bowl, combine the maple syrup, soy sauce, scallions, vinegar, garlic, and pepper and mix well. Add the chicken wings and toss them gently so they are bathed in the heady liquid. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let the chicken marinate in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours or overnight.

2 Preheat the oven to 450°F. Slice the bacon in half lengthwise to yield long thin ribbons, perfect for restraining your bird.

3 Remove the wings from the marinade and wipe off any clinging garlic or scallion pieces. Tightly tie up each chicken wing in a bacon ribbon and lay the chicken wings, wing tips up and expectant, on a large baking pan. Cover the pan loosely with foil and bake for 30 minutes. Uncover the dish and continue to bake until golden and crisp, another 10 to 15 minutes. Serve hot, using your hands to devour.

The way his apron hangs from his hips already has me all wobbly. But as he coats my thighs with sticky liquid I can hardly contain myself. Is it the wine, or is my aroma starting to drive him crazy, too?

He heats me up fast, and it won’t take much to finish me off now. His lips quirk up into a smile. My own juices are mixing with the coating and running all over the place. I get the strangest, sweetest, most hedonistic feeling up and down. It’s epicureanism run wild!

He spreads my thighs out on a plate. Sticky hands and at least five wet napkins. What will the housekeeper think? Who cares?

roasted chicken thighs with sweet-and-sour onions

SERVES 2 TO 4

1 pound boneless, skinless chicken thighs, patted dry with paper towels

2 garlic cloves, finely chopped

1 teaspoon plus a pinch of coarse kosher salt

½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 sweet onion, thinly sliced

1 cup white wine

1 bay leaf

1 cinnamon stick

1 tablespoon honey

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 Preheat the oven to 450°F. In a large bowl, toss together the chicken, garlic, 1 teaspoon salt, and the pepper.

2 In a small saucepan, simmer together the onion, wine, bay leaf, cinnamon stick, and a pinch of salt until most of the liquid has evaporated, 15 to 20 minutes. Mix in the honey and butter.

3 Spoon the mixture over the chicken and toss well. Spread the thighs, onion mixture, and any juices onto a rimmed baking sheet. Bake until the chicken is no longer pink and the onions are meltingly tender and caramelized, about 25 minutes.

I’ve been prevailed upon in ways I never imagined. I’ve agreed to everything so far, but now it’s my turn. I want more. I want to be dinner, I want to taste like me, I want to be craved . He’s obsessed with his kinky implements, his techniques, his condiments. I prefer to think this is messed up, but I can see it’s the right thing for him. My mind wanders to the fifteen previous Ingredients.

“Your whole control-freak foodie thing, it was because of her, that woman—Mrs. Child.” My mood has darkened.

“Julia opened my eyes to many important things,” he explains. “In fact, I’d still be eating frozen dinners if it weren’t for her.”

Frozen dinners? The thought of my poor, fucked-up foodie eating cold Tater Tots as a boy breaks my heart. Not taters, baby, never again!

All right then. I’ll bet she never taught you this.

“Strip my breasts, Blades,” I command softly. “Now.”

His eyes widen. Craving thickens the air around us like a wine reduction. I can tell he’s thinking what he might do with my ample white flesh. Well, he’s just going to have to think a little longer, because I have to marinate.

So what will it be? Cupped in a warm tortilla? Slicked with vinaigrette? Rubbed up hot with spice?

We won’t need a recipe for what we’re about to do.

chicken breast strips with balsamic and rosemary

SERVES 2 TO 4

1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts, patted dry with paper towels

2 garlic cloves, finely chopped

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary

¾ teaspoon coarse kosher salt

⅛ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 Cut the chicken into ½-inch-thick strips. In a bowl, whisk together the chicken, garlic, balsamic, rosemary, salt, and red pepper flakes. Lay the chicken into the bowl and turn it gently. Drizzle in 2 tablespoons of oil and turn the mixture again. Wrap the bowl tightly and let the chicken marinate in the fridge for 1 hour or overnight. Pat the chicken dry with paper towels.

2 Place a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the remaining tablespoon of oil and heat until it is shimmering. Toss in the chicken strips and sear without moving until the undersides are golden brown. Continue to cook, tossing occasionally, until the chicken is just cooked through, about 5 minutes.

LEARNING THE ROPES

Feel free to project your dinner fantasies onto the naked flesh of these well-seasoned breasts. Here are some ideas: wrap in warm tortillas and top with tomatoes, avocado, and grated cheese; toss with salad greens, shaved fennel, and a lemony vinaigrette; cut into smaller strips and fold into an omelet to serve the morning after; shred into chicken soup.

It’s just around midnight. He’s got me in pieces again, whipping up his latest fancy. Brown sugar and bourbon simmer on the range, smelling juiced up and sloppy. I can’t keep up with his shifting moods—sour this morning, sweet tonight. I blame that harpy, Mrs. Child. A cooking show queen, warping boys of just sixteen. Now poor Shifty can’t even chew gum without some kind of kinky cookery. Finesse: it’s a bitch.

“Is this one of her recipes?” I can’t hide an edge of bitterness in my voice.

“No, Miss Hen, it’s my own preparation. And I wish you’d stop obsessing about Julia. You’re flogging a dead horse. She’s my past. You are my future.”

His future! I let this information soak in. I feel my anger subside slightly and my bones grow warm.

My subconscious is squawking, You’ll get burned again . I hear her knock on her perch, but I ignore her. She’s still got the blues about Mrs. Child and she’s got a point, but we’ve got to move on. How can I resist those deft hands? That godlike mouth and tongue? If the brown sugar doesn’t sway me, the bourbon will. Why does it smell so good?

He palms my breast, his fingertips just brushing the sensitive tip. “You fit my hand perfectly, Miss Hen,” he murmurs. “Just like a young bird should.”

No, I won’t let anything come between me and my Shifty Blades. Wild foxes couldn’t drag me away.