The People In Our Lives...and Cooking Fried Chicken.

It may sound sappy and it may well be sappy but today has been one of those days where the people in my life have made a world of difference in what would otherwise be a very stressful situation for me.

Rebecca's truck broke down, which we all knew was coming, but we didn't know to what extent the damages would run. The truck was towed to the mechanic and he gave it a thorough going over. His estimate was fair and so the work began. As is always the case when a motor is being replaced, other things are determined to be in need of replacement and so the estimate remains flexible until all the work is done.

Being a parent in TN with two kids in FL has its challenges as you can well imagine. Financial support is tricky at best but we seem to always manage. In this instance though, many hoops were jumped through, much valuable time was spent waiting on yet another call, a bazillion phone calls were made and most of this was not done by me.

The truck wouldn't have been towed, the mechanic wouldn't have given us such a good deal, the money would not have been withdrawn from the bank and the truck would not have been picked up by Rebecca had it not been for my wonderful sister, Neccy and her amazingly wonderful boyfriend, Jack.

They handled so many details for me that I'm probably not even remotely aware of most of them. I can only express my thanks to them for all that they did and for all that they have done to help me with my kids since I moved to Tennessee. Living here wouldn't be what it is if they weren't such a tremendous help to me in Florida.

All this means really is that I think sometimes we don't always appreciate or even recognize when other people do things for us. Do we take them for granted? Do we remember to say 'thank you.' What about really taking the time to think about it and appreciate their efforts? Even the smallest deed need not go unappreciated. Somebody cared enough to help - the least we can do is recognize it.

So to all those of you who have done me favors; Lizzard, Bev, Dizzy, Francis, Joyce, Marcia, Mom, and Neccy and Jack, I say THANK YOU VERY MUCH. I don't know what I would do without you. If I missed anyone on that list, it wasn't intentional...there are just so many of you!

As days go by life here on the farm has settled into a nice, comfortable routine. I'm a big one for routine so this is a good thing for me. Sure, I still have to go to work every day but even that isn't so bad. My drive in is beautiful, the job is pretty cool, I have everything I need and I look forward to making my way down that gravel drive and up to the cabin that finally feels like home to me.

I've said it so many times but it's so true - I still feel like I'm on vacation here. I haven't begun to explore all the sights, the parks and the gardens that are just around the corner. I will get to them. But for now, I'm relaxed and enjoying living this new life I made for myself. If ever anyone was grateful for their current situation, it's me.

Here's a question for you...

Can you make fried chicken? I mean the really good kind like your grandma or your Mom or your sister can make? If you are the fried chicken person in your family then you may not have a point of reference for what I'm about to write. If you are like me and you have never been successful frying chicken without the help of someone else, stick with me, for this is a story in itself.

When I was younger, my Mom made the very best fried chicken I ever ate. We had it at other people's houses but it was never the same. Mind you it was good. It just wasn't the same. Mom had this really big electric skillet that she filled about half way with Crisco. She would buy 4 whole chickens to feed all 6 of us and she cut them up herself. She coated them with flour, patting it in so that every inch of chicken was completely covered in a blanket of white, floury softness.

I remember her hands being dusted with the flour and I remember her wearing an apron to keep her clothes safe. I remember too how her forehead would sweat as she stood there in front of that skillet full of hot, bubbling oil as the chicken fried. There was no central air conditioning and the kitchen was somewhat blocked from the window unit that was set inside our living room window. I can still conjure up the memory of how the house smelled when that chicken hit the oil.

This fried chicken was indeed a labor of love for it wasn't something she could leave to itself to cook. She had to watch it, regularly checking the bottom of each piece. She had to remember to season it with her tupperware salt and pepper shakers (remember those?) and most important of all, she had to take care not to burn it. No simple feat this chicken frying endeavor. And with five hungry people waiting, it wasn't something she took lightly. At least it didn't seem so to me but really what did I know about any of it at that age?

Mom kept the temperature of the oil right where it needed to be and was ever watchful of the progress. I remember sitting on the couch in the living room, watching whatever Dave decided we would watch, and thinking that supper was going to be so good when it was finally ready. She put a lid on that electric skillet and every so often she lifted it to check and see if the skin was browning like she wanted it to do and boy oh boy would that smell ever make you stay home! I don't think any of us even considered leaving the house on nights when Mom made fried chicken.

Sure there are other methods what with cast iron skillets and deep fryers but the electric skillet was my Mom's favorite. Since she never burned a single piece, as far as I can remember, it makes sense she would keep using it. As Neccy and I grew up, we fought over who would get it. When Neccy started cooking, she too was able to make really good fried chicken.

I don't know what was wrong with me. My attempts were never successful unless I had my Mom standing right there with me the whole time. I had the oil too hot and burned the outside before the inside had even begun to cook. Or, more typical, the flour seemed to just float away from my chicken, leaving me with skin that was not crunchy or anywhere near flavorful and meat that still was not done. After years of trying, I figured it just wasn't my thing and moved on to other tried and true favorites instead.

When I moved here to TN, I started thinking about fried chicken again. It's served almost everywhere you go here and it's good stuff too. Not as good as Mom's but nothing ever will be. I've had plenty that ran a close second though. So in my thinking I thought, hmmm maybe I should give fried chicken another try.

I got out my apron and my cast iron skillet and filled it with Crisco (as Mom instructed) and started coating my chicken pieces with flour. I didn't have her skill at butchering so my pieces where kind of a mystery but their shape wasn't my concern. Their done-ness and flavor were more important. I sprinkled in some flour to check if the oil was ready and it quickly sizzled away - that's the test Mom told me to use. I put the pieces in the skillet using care not to burn myself.

I'm pretty sure I forgot to set the timer but I knew I would know what it was supposed to look like when it was time to flip it. Everyone knows what it's supposed to look like, right? It's supposed to look golden brown. So I waited for what I thought was just way too long and then I took a peek. Still white...I left it alone and waited some more. When I went to flip it the next time, I was already too late. It had burned. It was black as could be. I flipped it anyway and figured we could just peel that skin off and eat the rest.

As the second side cooked, I turned down the heat thinking maybe that was my problem. Again, I waited. I was more worried now having ruined the first side but I was determined to get the rest of it right. When the second side was perfectly golden brown like you see in the restaurants, I got my tongs and removed it from the oil and drained it on a paper bag. They say it will stay crunchy if you use a paper bag. It wasn't burned!

It was, however, quite raw inside. Well, I wasn't really surprised and I knew to put it back in the skillet would be a disaster so I picked off what could be eaten and tried to figure out where I went wrong. I gave up on fried chicken again and decided that the store makes pretty good stuff so we'll just go that route when we're in the mood for it.

A few weeks ago some friends invited us to dinner and she was making fried chicken. I thought great, the one thing I absolutely can't help with. As she started cutting up the chicken by just holding it over the sink, the memories of my Mom doing just that came rushing back in and I was once again inspired to watch and see what I could learn about this whole chicken frying thing.

My friend put her chicken pieces in a bowl and coated them with flour. Her hands were as dusty as the chicken. Sound familiar? She put the oil in her electric skillet (familiar again!) and waited for it to get hot. When it did, she put the pieces in and proceeded to fry that chicken just like Mom had done so many years and memories ago.

I watched as she seasoned it and put the lid on it and how she checked it every so often for doneness. I asked her a bunch of questions and she answered very politely but probably thought there was really something wrong with someone who couldn't fry chicken. My friend is from TN and makes it look like it's just the easiest thing to do in the world. I knew better.

When the chicken was served, it was really, really good. Mom's will always be number one but this was some good stuff I was eating. Once again I set my mind on frying chicken. I guess it's just something I can't let go of. I bought a whole chicken and did some reading on how to cut it up.

I did a pretty decent job of butchering that thing although one of the thighs looked like no part of a chicken that I had ever seen. It was so mangled I needed Wally to help identify it. LOL I filled my bowl with flour and began coating the chicken. I patted it all over just like Mom did. I shook off the excess and when it was ready, I plugged in the electric skillet and added the oil.

I set the temperature to medium and waited for it to get hot. It seemed like forever but finally the flour sizzled away just like it was supposed to. I put the pieces in the oil and squished it around until every piece was in there. My oil might have been a bit too much but everything looked like it was doing fine so I set the timer for 10 minutes and stood there watching it. I don't know what I thought it would do but it seemed like something was missing. Duh!! Salt and pepper!! I hurriedly sprinkled it on the frying chicken and then forgot whether or not the lid should go on. I called my friend and in a frantic voice asked her about the lid. She said for me to put the lid on it and leave it there. whew!!

I get stressed easily when it comes to fried chicken...lol My timer went off and I checked a couple pieces to see if they were brown. You know at this point I was very worried that it would be burnt and ruined again but it was actually very nicely browned this time around. I flipped the smaller pieces and left the breasts to keep frying on the first side a little longer. I set the timer for another 10 minutes and got out my paper bag.

When the timer went off again, I was a little calmer. The house was smelling good and the chicken was looking like it should. I turned the pieces again and this time the breasts got turned too. I let all the chicken cook for another 10 minutes and then figured it was now or never. Time for the taste test. Time to cut into it and see if there was any pink rawness going on. Time to see if I would once and for all give up on this silly goal of mine.

Guess what? It was perfect!!! woo hoo!!! I did it. I made fried chicken!! It wasn't burnt and it wasn't raw. It was crunchy, salty, juicy and the skin stayed on when I took a bite. It was so good I ate three pieces! hahahaha Finally I got it... I can now stand up on that imaginary pedestal that all southern woman gain access to via their fried chicken success. Wow that felt good.

By the way, Mom still has her old electric skillet. I guess neither one of us will ever get our hands on it...

"The most remarkable thing about my mother is that for thirty years she served the family nothing but leftovers. The original meal has never been found." ~Calvin Trillin