We used to have elaborate Christmas Eve dinners. Big productions of Roast Prime Rib, Feast of the Seven Fishes, Roast Goose, Filet Mignon, and Peking Duck. Not any more. Christmas Eve service at our church cuts a big chunk of time out of an evening for cooking. We wouldn't have it any other way.
Now, we snack on Christmas Eve, drinking gallons of Bailey's and coffee with hopes of staying awake for Midnight Mass with the Pope on television. Last Friday was no exception. No chips and dip this year. Ruffles with french onion dip will have to wait for the Super Bowl.
Last Friday, we had crackling fried chicken wings for our picnic with the Pope. No forks needed. We settled down with glasses of wine after church and basked in the soft glow of our living room tree. Toward midnight, Michael fired the coffee pot for our coffee drinks while I prepped for our picnic.
Pulling from the asian tradition for crisp fried anything, I dredged the wings in cornstarch and let them rest for an hour in the refrigerator. The resting period allowed the coating adhere to the wings when frying.