How to Cook the Moistest* and Tenderest* Chicken Breasts

And by "moistest" and "tenderest," I mean driest and toughest...

...because, let's be honest, moist and tender chicken is for "foodies," and nobody here wants to be mistaken for one of those, right? We want our chicken how most people (including the United States government) want it: dry. (And I'm tired of trying to convince anyone otherwise.) So, here you go: If you want your chicken as dry as gypsum board, this is how to make it.

Step 1: Pound, Pound, Pound

Start by pounding the bloody hell out of a couple of boneless, skinless chicken breasts until they're flattened. Don't hold back—you want those chicken breasts to know just what an ass-whooping they're in for. Mind you, it makes absolutely no difference whether you smash them flat or not—you're gonna cook them to death either way. This step exists purely to sate your aggression, so go to town.

And don't even think of using dark meat here. Dry-chicken-eaters don't deserve that nasty, flavor-packed, moisture-ridden dark meat.

Step 2: Season, Unevenly

Now grab a nice big pinch of salt and smack it down on the chicken in one big clump. Repeat with the other breast. Body-slam!

Oh, did some chef tell you that seasoning should be even and balanced? Just like a tepid apartment feels warm when you step in naked from the snows of winter, that one bite of pure salt will ensure that you enjoy the rest of your bland meal. Psychology. Learn it.

Step 3: Hot Pan + Hot Oil = Too Much Effort

Next, take a cold pan, glug some oil into it (use your best extra-virgin olive oil for this, because we're going to heat it until it nearly catches fire, and we want that flavor to come through), and drop the chicken straight in. Screw preheating the pan; that's a step for people who care.

Step 4: Poke, Prod, and Fiddle

Turn on the heat to high and allow an uncontrollable feeling of impatience to overcome you. Ask yourself, Is it brown yet? Let that question echo through your mind for a few seconds—just don't ponder it too long, because you really need to give in to that urge to take a look. Lift up the chicken. It definitely won't be brown yet, so put it back down. Let three seconds pass, then repeat. Keep doing this so that it sticks to the pan and shreds a ton as you monkey around with it.

Step 5: Use a Timer

Okay, now cover the pan, lower the heat a little (or don't), and set your kitchen timer to whatever its maximum is.* In my case, that'd be nine hours, 99 minutes, and 99 seconds. It's important to use a timer for this, because of precision.

Er, don't really do this. At least, don't send the bill to us when you burn your house down.

This is a good time to take a nap, watch a movie, or, you know, maybe hop on a plane and fly halfway around the world for a bit of sightseeing. (If you do, definitely don't eat the chicken there...it may not be cooked enough.) When you come back, grab a digital thermometer and take the temperature of the chicken. If the internal temp has exceeded 212°F, the boiling point of water (again, the word is precision), it's ready. You can now be certain that there's hardly a trace of moisture left. Whatever you do, do not let it get near water after this stage. Just remember the basic rules from Gremlins, and you should be okay.

Step 6: Let It Rest!

If you really want the dryness to be evenly distributed throughout the chicken, I recommend letting it rest for anywhere between five minutes and five months at this point. The longer you let it go, the more it will reabsorb the chicken dust floating in the cracks and hollow spaces that have formed between the muscle fibers. And, as we've shown, dry meat never rots, so you have no worries on that front.

Finally, time to carve! A serrated knife is a good choice—the blade's teeth chew through the meat in much the same way that a saw cuts wood...which is basically what you're doing.

The technique works, trust me. I cooked two chicken breasts side by side. The first I barely moved at all as it cooked, while the second I lifted and poked every three seconds. The second shredded, allowing more channels for moisture to escape, delivering a chicken breast that was measurably drier. I confirmed this with a few blind taste tests. After blinding my tasters with the brilliance of my cooking, I fed them chicken from one pile, construction scraps from a second, and a mixture of construction scraps and chicken from the third (all good science needs a control). They were rendered speechless, and you will be, too.

I like to garnish the chicken with scallions. Not only are they tasty and a pretty green color, but they're also a helpful visual cue for distinguishing the meat from the cutting board below. Although, frankly, if you ate the cutting board by accident, you probably wouldn't notice.

Bonus tip: The leftover chicken is a good source of unbreakable fibers, perfect for dental floss. You're gonna need it, with all the fossilized chicken bits jammed between your teeth.