Last Tuesday, I had split breasts and a total brain fart. I thought, “Let me just toss them in the air fryer, no big deal.” Wrong. The skin stuck to the basket like a toddler to a candy wrapper. I spent 20 minutes peeling it off with tweezers. Moral: stick to the sheet pan, you’re not a celebrity chef.
My neighbor, a guy named Dave, once tried to grill split breasts without preheating. He ended up with chicken that was raw on the inside and looked like charcoal on the outside. He called it “campfire chic.” I called it a fire hazard. Don’t be Dave.
