You know I don't like my chicken fried.

2.19.13 - Jamming to some 80s country.

Ahhh another morning greets me with rain and very limited sleep.  Just another day in the Real Housewife of Rural America - hey Andy like that idea?

Yesterday I did something I have never done before.  You may be shocked if you are a reader from a Northern location or Florida.  You may be appalled if you are from NC, VA, SC, TN, GA, AL, AR, LA, TX, KY, WV...nah scratch WV - just kidding, MI (that is Mississippi right?).  OK (as in okay not Oklahoma but hell lets throw Oklahoma in there too, I'm down with the Indian Reservation state, I have a friend from high school who ranches the plains now) - alright here's what I did.......ready, set....DISCLAIMER:  I am pro heart health and that's part of the reason I never do this!  I am also proud of my Dixie Land Delight heritage of being a Belle but this isn't something I particularly care for but ok....here goes it.

I made fried chicken.

Whew I said it.  It felt good to say it. 

Fried chicken - the staple of the South and not a staple of my palate or kitchen.  I grew up on the stuff.  My Mammaw (God rest her clogged arteries) used to go every week to the Lowes Foods that once resided in our small home town and buy it from the deli counter.  A box of Southern Fried Chicken with a side of Tater Logs!  Yes Tater Logs!  God Almighty there better be Lowes Foods Tater Logs in Heaven or I'm going to be a little miffed.  We would go home from the store and for lunch we'd have:

Tomato Sandwich - which was two gummy pieces of white bread slathered in mayonnaise and dappled with pepper loaded down with tomato slices fresh from a mater that was picked from the garden back by the shop.

A chicken leg - deep fried Lowes Foods goodness

Four or five Tater Logs drenched in ketchup (and it wasn't the good ketchup but the cheapo ketchup).

We'd wash it down with sweet tea.

My God Dixie Land I hear you calling. 

If it was the colder months the mater sammich would be replaced by macaroni and cheese (which was generally reserved for salmon patty night). 

So yesterday I set some organic chicken thighs out to thaw.  I didn't know what I was going to make with them.  It seemed fitting that when you have a nice set of organic meat you should do something that Dr. Oz would approve of and not what Paula Deen would feel more comfortable with. 

Every single time I opened the fridge and saw that meat thawing the same picture crossed my mind - golden fried chicken.

Now that is an oddity.  I never really eat fried chicken (with the exception of some Chicfila on occasion but seriously - that aint no real fried chicken people).  If you set out several options of meals for me and one was fried chicken - sorry Zac Brown but we are at odds - I don't like my chicken fried.  I like it grilled, baked, boiled.....never fried.

But never is a promise and I cannot afford to lie (Fiona Apple said that, no she sang it). 

So last afternoon at 4:50 I pulled down my salt and pepper, the all purpose whole wheat (sorry Mammaw) flour, cracked a couple eggs to serve as a binder, and toss a tad bit of milk in.  I poured in my Louanna oil in my skillet, let it get to sizzling and slowly dredged my meat saying a silent prayer:

Dear Lord in Heaven
I appreciate my good health I have been blessed with
I realize my genes hold the code to heart disease
I just ask you bless this fried food to the nourishment of my body
And please spare me from arterial death
Amen.

The chicken started frying up.

I couldn't bare the thought of eating fried tater logs - eventhough 20 years ago it was par for the course with this main meat.  So I wedged up some potatoes and covered them with some herbs and baked them.

Then I threw some collard greens in the pot for a heart saver - I do not cook mine in grease.

The smell of the grease - - - -

Isn't it amazing how a smell can take you to a place in a past time?  I realized the smell of my Mammaw's house was predominantly the smell of frying oil.  My house suddenly took on the aroma that rushed down the hall and into every bedroom of her home.  If you wanted to get away from it you had to go outside (and smell cigarettes) or to the basement (and smell the laundry or the wood stove). 

A smell can make you remember so much - conversations, songs, meals, fights, quiet times.

The smell made me remember Breck shampoo and standing in a chair over her brown kitchen sink while she scrubbed my head and then took a comb and "combed my ears off" = she wasn't a gentle kitchen sink beautician.

When my husband got home we sat down to the table....

The chicken wasn't that buttery goodness of salt, grease, and bird but my little girl loved it and my husband ate two pieces.

I'm not a fried chicken connoisseur but I gave it the old college try.  I'll never perfect the meal of my childhood summer days and well....that's ok with me some memories just cannot come back to life.

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Yesterday I took my kitchen apart.  Looks like I'll be buying some paint soon....soon as in May maybe?

I hate to paint.  Its a good job for prisoners if you ask me - I just don't want prisoners in my house so I guess I'll do it myself.  Barefoot Wines - if you are reading this go ahead and send a few cases of Pinot Grigio my way.  Hell, if the ABC Board is reading this send me a few cases of dark sweet rum please.

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I have been off Facebook for 11 days - haven't even missed it!  I am so shocked!

The only question....how will I sale off all these baby and little girl's clothes?

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Enjoy your day and I'll see ya later on homies.

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Until we meet again -

Brownie