My first experience with seeing homemade fried chicken prepared came while visiting my grandparent’s home in rural Milford, Utah after we had moved to sunny California. Grandma wanted to prepare a special meal for us, so she sent Grandpa to the chicken coop to find a rooster who though unwilling to give up his life to serve our needs, would be convinced by the swift action of my Grandpa as he held his sacrificial victim to the chopping block.
I watched with detached childhood curiosity as Grandpa in his familiar overalls quickly brought about the demise of the unlucky rooster who would no longer greet the morning with his piercing “cock-a-doodle-do.” Feelings of fascination followed as the rooster who no longer had a head, fluttered and twisted on the ground for several minutes before it was still.
This was my initiation into the practice of the hunting and killing process that had provided food for many generations of my family. I had never been hunting—I was a girl. Grandpa hunted anything he could find from deer to pheasants to doves to supplement the family’s meat supply. He also fished and caught beautiful rainbow trout that he would freeze to give to visiting family because he didn’t like the smell of fish cooking.
This was my initiation into the practice of the hunting and killing process that had provided food for many generations of my family. I had never been hunting—I was a girl. Grandpa hunted anything he could find from deer to pheasants to doves to supplement the family’s meat supply. He also fished and caught beautiful rainbow trout that he would freeze to give to visiting family because he didn’t like the smell of fish cooking.
Once the chicken innards were cleaned out, then the real stinky work began. Grandma boiled a large pot of water on her coal stove then dunked the headless, footless rooster in the pot to loosen its feathers. I tried to help with this messy process but soon lost interest. After the feathers were plucked, they could be washed, dried and used later to make soft feather pillows.
The chicken’s body was then cut into smaller pieces: legs, wings, breast, tail and ribs portions to dip into a spicy flour mixture and finally deepfried by Grandma. The process took hours and hours but was well worth the work and wait when dinner was finally served by the exhausted hostess––Grandma.
The chicken’s body was then cut into smaller pieces: legs, wings, breast, tail and ribs portions to dip into a spicy flour mixture and finally deepfried by Grandma. The process took hours and hours but was well worth the work and wait when dinner was finally served by the exhausted hostess––Grandma.
I know we no longer are allowed to deep fry anything, but that’s what my grandparents did because they didn’t know the real facts about cholesterol or even care. Interestingly enough, they outlived most of us today who eat low fat, maybe because they had to really work to get their food. They couldn’t just hop in the car and go to the nearest KFC.