Arizona gets all the credit for sunsets and cacti, but I have a stronger emotional relationship with whatever is happening in the nearest fryer.
I have spent years chasing that crisp, golden crunch from Phoenix down to Tucson, and I have learned that the best detours are the ones that come with a napkin pile and a grin.
Every corner of the state seems to have its own fried chicken personality, from spicy Nashville-style options that wake you up fast to old-school soul food counters that cook like they have been perfecting the routine forever…