I'm more than a few weeks into my diet and I've been remarkably vigilant. Well, OK, I did have a pear on the weekend (and God, it was delicious) and well, that no alcohol thing didn't hold very long. I mean, the odd glass of wine never hurt anyone, right? But I am down 14 pounds and I can wear my old jeans again. Comfortably. And the black Zara dress that mocked me so righteously a few weeks back? It zips up without a hitch. So I'm making some progress though I have a little way to go yet before a bikini can be flaunted in public.

Curiously, for someone with such wanton food tendencies, I'm not craving the foods I can't have...with one serious exception. I have had a horrendous hankering for fried chicken. On my subway stop, there is a dive fried chicken stand called "The Corporal." I think it was named to fool less savvy chicken connoisseurs into thinking of The Colonel, he of the goatee and white suit and nationwide bucket. The smell of grease assaults you the second you get off the subway and it seems remarkably seductive this week. I have caught myself day dreaming during conference calls about a steaming soulful plate of finger licking love from Charles' Southern Style Kitchen in Harlem. And today, the Dog Whisperer, that temptress, dangled the lure of a New Orleans eatery noted for its tender treatment of the hen: The Praline Connection, just outside the Quarter. I will have to exercise the willpower of a Samurai next week just to keep on track.

So, since I can't yet indulge myself in this regard, it's best to take the higher road and celebrate the virtues of this succulent and seductive foodstuff in a few lines of longing and fond verse.

I write in praise of a golden bird
Dipped in buttermilk and slowly turned
Gently bathed in my Fry Daddy
Crispy, crusty, slightly burned.

You're the color of sunshine
On a hot Northeastern morn
And you are so perfectly paired
With spicy greens and corn

The thighs and backs do entice
A drumstick, wings, a juicy breast
The parsons' nose, which Grandma loved
It's hard to choose which bit is best

Coat in corn flakes, flour or meal
Spice it until it cackles and sings
Heat the oil until it smokes
Fry until the smoke alarm rings.

I had to abandon you, dear fried friend
To shed 20 pounds off my ass
It's a terrible vanity, yes, I know,
Sacrificing love for body mass.

So I'll continue to chew on salad
And soy and *uhem* also forgo wine,
But in only a few short months--ah!
Chicken, your ass is mine.