Ingredients:
ChickenFlour
Salt
Pepper
Season All
Goya
Parsley
Lime
Lemon
Buttermilk
Lemon Pepper
Paprika
Preparation:
Remove the chicken the previous night and place in a sealed bowl. Store in a cold refrigerated area overnight. The next day remove the chicken and wash thoroughly, removing any blood or bacteria.
Grandma hated this particular task, so she would always assign the duty of doing so to my much older brother with the prospect of payback. In the meantime, she opened all the windows allowing the fall breeze to chirp a sweet melody while shaking the arms of several trees, which in turn scraped the windows and waved at us all. I placed my book bag into the hall closet and sat at one of the stools on the bar. These chairs sat up very high and offered no back support, so for the most part they were vacant. As soon as my grandmother disappeared into the back of the house, I took the chair for a spin laughing non-stop as my brother transformed into a fuzzy blur. I went round and round until I could no longer contain my dizziness.
"Oh my," I stated sickly as I hopped from the chair and moved throughout the kitchen like a drunk woman.
Just as the last effects of the dizziness wore off, my grandmother returned with a radio and many blues tapes. She started the soul-moving music and smelt my breadth as passing to be sure I was sober. After doing so, she returned to the sink where the chicken appeared paler than a deceased man, both awaiting to be prepared.
Place the oil in a deep pan and place in oven on 390 to preheat. Season chicken with salt, pepper, paprika, lemon pepper, parsley, season all, and Goya.
After proving I was sober, I wandered into the pantry empty-handed and left with a pack of Cheetos. Stuffing my mouth with the cheesy chips, I begin heading towards the front door, which always remained open for grandma would display hospitality to animals if possible, only to be met by one of her gossiping buddies. Before she could open her mouth, I pointed to the kitchen and pretended to go outside. Immediately, I made a U-turn and followed closely behind her until I made it to a close enough distance to ease- drop on their conversation. Excited to see Mrs. Edna, my grandmother hugged her, for they had been unable to gossip for two weeks because of grandma's absence from her bingo games due to the flu. She pulled out Mrs. Edna a chair, and did something she rarely ever do, remain quite. She listened intently as Mrs. Edna told her who had lost their job, which husband stayed out all night long, and whose child had misbehaved on Sunday. All the while doing so, she used her hands as measuring instruments to distribute the seasoning evenly on the chicken. Here and then she would look up with a surprised face and state, "What? Are you serious?"
Take the zest from a lemon and lime and blend with buttermilk. Add flour in a paper bag. Dip the chicken in the wet batter and allow the chicken to dry approximately three minutes. Next, place chicken in the bag and shake for several minutes. Afterwards, place the chicken in the oil and allow to fry for twenty minutes or until crispy brown.
After having enough gossip for a day, I climbed from underneath the table and marched into the kitchen as nothing had happened. As usual, Mrs. Edna was preparing the wet batter. I watched as her long, wrinkled fingers mixed the lemon and lime zest with the buttermilk. My grandmother poured the flour into the tall, brown paper bag and waited for the chicken to dry. If the chicken is placed in the flour immediately after removing from the batter, the flour could become clumpy. Taking the bag, I used the long, awkward, metal utensil to place enough chicken into the bag to feed every living organism in the whole wide world. I then begin shaking the bag with the assistance of Mrs. Edna, no doubt we could have became body builders after coating the chicken in flour. I handed the bag back to my grandmother and watched as the oil screamed each time she placed the chicken in the pan.
"OUCH," she shouted as some of the grease popped onto her skin. "Child fetch me some butter," she said agitated.
After caring for her small wound, she placed the pan back into the oven, and I went away into the hall to gather all the blankets, and assemble them throughout the playroom, where all the neighborhood children gathered for dinner. Closely afterwards, the entire house was swarming with hungry neighbors carrying pots of food ready to partake in a soulful meal. At exactly 6:30 my brother shut off the music and everyone joined hands for prayer. Immediately afterwards the hand sanitizer was distributed from one dirty hand to another. The older ones received their food first and sat in the front of the house along with the middle-age adults, while the children sat in the back. The fragrances from various meals escaped from their pots and formed mini people that danced around the house leaving a trace of footsteps that floated into everyones' nose.
We all sat with one another varying in age, gender, and nationality laughing and reciting past and life experiences.
"Never go mudding with no underwear on," stated a unfamiliar boy dressed in camouflage.
We all laughed even harder while smacking on biscuits dripping in honey. As always, I drenched by chicken in hot sauce and listened as it came to life in my mouth with a loud crunch. Nothing could compare to the emotional fullness and warmth the chicken provided on one's insides. The delicious recipe attracted everyone back just as a flame does with a moth. That day, some of those partaking of the dish had lost their jobs, homes, and even loved ones, but they knew grandma's crispy fried chicken would heal the wound making everything better. For they all arrived starving for love and warmth ,just a babe being brought into the world, and left not only full, but satisfied with what they had gained from the dish .
