Fried chicken is something that makes me feel connected to my Great Grandma Emma - living on the farm, keeping Grandpa well fed, and shooting possums off the porch. They both lived well into their 90's - Grandma was 98! I love hearing stories of her and her spunk. Up to the day she passed, she would stick her tongue out at you, but if you blinked, you might miss it. She ate her peas with a butter knife. My parents say she would tell you "You probably want that baker's bread [store-bought]. Mine is hard as tack, it ain't worth eating." Yeah right!
Now that I know how to fry chicken, I hope Grandma is looking down with a smile of approval. Thank you Mom, for passing on your infinite knowledge of hot lard :)
the best teacher ever
getting nice and golden brown
No final product picture (with mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn) but rest assured, it was amazing. Dad said that it was as good as G-Grandma Emma's. I'm pretty sure he was being nice.
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