10 months ago, after eating at a really good fried chicken restaurant in Greenpoint that has since closed, I was inspired to try more fried chicken sandwiches.
I told my friend, Casey, that I wanted to make a day of it. It'd be on, oh…I don't know…, March 15, and I'd call it, ummmmm…how about, Frieds of March? So I'd have to wait, like 10 more months to make this stupid event a thing just because I like to commit a really stupid pun.
First I mapped out some noteworthy fried chicken sandwiches in the city.
"How are we going to eat at all these places in one day?" my friends would ask.
Listen. I don't know. The furthest I planned this was the name and date. It's one of those "cross that bridge" situations.
And then they'd ask, Could I eat nine different chicken sandwiches throughout the course of a day? Of course.
Am I going to take a PTO day just so I can eat at least nine friend chicken sandwiches throughout the day? Yes. Of course.
Fine. But would I be ok with eating alone at at least nine fried chicken restaurants because no one else is committed to the craft like me? Absolutely yes.
But I decided that if this is going to be an inaugural event, I should choose just three? So I can do it again next year?
Anyway, I had to make an invitation that wasn't just a calendar invite.
I started with Vincenzo Camuccini's Death of Caesar. An obvious choice, but a painting I'm fascinated with, and one of the few I can remember the name of.
That's not to say I was interested in Julius Caesar. I don't remember much about Julius Caesar; I didn't pay much attention in sophomore English, but I know there was a conspiracy to kill the guy and this and that.
So initially this was just going to be a teaser/save-the-date type invitation, but I wanted it to decode like we're in a secret society, conspiring to commit to chicken, and if you stare at the image for longer than two seconds, you can see what happens on March 15.
I also considered making Caesar an entire chicken but I made it too sexual, so I abandoned it.
This Chicken Caesar's coming after your man.