"This is the South, we can fry anything" was Hallie's (my brother's wife) proud boast when I got to their house in northern Mississippi for Thanksgiving this year. Actually, it seemed more like a challenge.
The first manifestation of this "challenge" was my brother's declaration that we would be deep-frying the turkey this year. The whole thing. I was fascinated by this concept and eagerly manned the deep fryer outside with its two tons of peanut oil and pleasing gurgling sound. After about an hour the bird was declared done and lifted out to share its golden brown glory. And it was mmmmmmm, mmmmmmmmm good. (BTW Bobby, nice Crocs.)
The frying olympics didn't stop there, and I don't think there was any way to prepare me for what came next. Not to be outdone, Hallie decided to attempt the penultimate frying feat: frying the cranberry sauce. At first I thought this was the most daft thing I had ever heard. Who the hell fries cranberry sauce, and how does that happen anyway? My doubts were not appreciated. Evidently cranberry sauce is fryable after all:
Of course I had to try it, and as you might have predicted it was kinda gross. And yes, I drank my wine from a red plastic cup with my name on it. That's just how we roll...