I spend equal amounts of time resisting and submitting to optimization culture. You’ll find this existential crisis manifest most overtly on my bookshelf, where Jenny O’Dell’s. There is, however, one area of my life where I fully, uninhibitedly embrace efficiency: entertaining. Nothing gives me a SULA more than having guests watch me prepare their food.
I sent my tray of wings into the oven for 30 minutes and went about making the marinade, whisking together honey, chili crisp, fresh lime juice, and fish sauce. A lick of my pinky finger sent a jolt of vinegary brightness across my tongue. I pulled the wings from the oven and plucked them off the tray with tongs to store overnight in an airtight container. In truth, I was a little worried at this point; they were beige and fleshy and kind of sad looking.
The following day I prepped my grill for medium heat and tossed the cooked wings around in a big bowl with the premade marinade. I took a deep breath, and loaded it with shishito peppers and drippy wings. How long to grill chicken wings depends somewhat on your grill, but I found six minutes on each side was perfect.
After all that, none of my housemates were around to experience this graceful, SULA-free performance. I topped my wings and peppers with sliced jalapeno, cilantro, peanuts, and more chili crisp. Then, I crafted a paper towel bib and tucked into the sticky-spicy wings with my bare hands—which, I guess, is another form of optimization I am absolutely down with.
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