Daddy’s Fried Chicken

This is the first in my series of food and flavor memories. 

Every so often, the Husband and I get a yen for fried chicken, usually when we’re out and about doing errands around town. Depending on which side of town we happen to be, we’ll stop in at the Lucky’s or Safeway’s deli for fried chicken legs and thighs, which aren’t too salty, greasy, or mostly batter. (Did you know that both supermarket chains are owned by the same company? That surprised me, too.) Yummy fried chicken. 

The best ever fried chicken that I’ve eaten was cooked by Daddy all those many years ago. He got an occasional yen for fried chicken, too. 

First he’d butcher a chicken into 10 pieces. Whack, whack, easy peasy. 

Next he gently shook the pieces in a paper bag with the right amount of flour, salt, and black pepper, and then he placed them in the right amount of fat heated at the right temperature in Mama’s revered Revere pot. Daddy didn’t use a thermometer. He also didn’t crowd the pot. He fried one side of the chicken for a magical number of minutes, turned the pieces, put on the lid for another magical number of minutes, then took the lid off and fried the pieces for a few more minutes. 

Crispy on the outside, moist on the inside.  Always the same, yummy to the yummth degree. Not ever burnt. No pieces bleeding red.

I’m imagining myself eating Daddy’s fried chicken with a large scoop of white short-grain rice. I am so very happy.