Pollo fritto per americani tristi

During some intense feelings of what Swiss Mr. appropriately termed "food malaise" this weekend, I thought I would never enjoy eating again. Truly. For at least six hours, there was no light at the end of this tunnel of gastronomic despair. Even the thought of dear, blessed cheese could not raise my spirits.

Eventually my hunger required some satiating, so my clever and kind husband cooked me up a comforting American meal of chicken fingers with honey mustard sauce.  After some delicious fried food and Michael-KITT repartee, I was feeling right as rain.  

Should you ever find yourself in this same season of discontent, here is the therapeutic.  Never mind the fact that the recipe is called "The Lady and Sons Chicken Fingers." (In truth, The Lady is unnaturally attached to her sons and to butter, but this scarcely hurts the recipe.)   

I no longer really feel the need to try my hand at "real" chicken nuggets. I had once read that in order to make them taste authentic, you have to puree the chicken first.  (I can't now find where I read that, but as a consolation prize found The Chicken Nuggets of Switzerland -- Why don't they have music on their web site, do you think? hmm....). Although the idea of desconstituting/reconstituting my own meat seemed truly unappetizing, I was for a moment in time interested in trying, if only for the thrill of accurately reproducing restaurant food at home. But The Lady and Sons have saved me from this lowbrow impulse: from here on out, it's chicken fingers or bust!