Sunday chicken

We made a trip last Sunday to Chicken Annie’s for a Sunday chicken dinner. As I savored my delicious meal and watched the rest of the crowd enjoy this very American fare, my thoughts turned back to my early farm youth.

I don’t have a preference when deciding between Chicken Annie’s and Chicken Mary’s. I have dined at both many times, and although there are some slight differences, I think they are each excellent choices. Barto’s Idle Hour in Frontenac for my money has equally fine southern fried chicken.

My enjoyment of southern fried chicken began for me at a very young age, as it has for many of us in America. In the time before modern refrigeration and freezer storage, meat consumption was limited. Pork could be saved for long periods through smoke and salt curing into bacon, sausage and ham. Most other meats had to be prepared fresh.

Chickens were valuable as a meat and egg production sources for practically every farm family. On the farm where I grew up we raised beef, pork and chickens. I can still recall the entire poultry process on that farm.

My father would go to the MFA where he would buy quite a large number of baby chicks. We called them brooders. We had a separate small building we called the chicken house. Inside there was a rectangular metal hood (about 6-feet square), that sat on legs just a few inches off the floor. It had lights inside that kept the temperature warm for the baby chicks for several weeks until they grew into what we called pullets.

My memory of how long that took had to be refreshed so I did an internet search. It takes about 20 weeks for a chick to mature into the pullet stage and that is when they begin to lay eggs.

I liked eggs and still do but I didn’t always enjoy the task of retrieving them. I didn’t like reaching into the nesting area and feeling around for the eggs, but more importantly I feared the prospect of snakes. I am not sure how much of the likelihood of encountering a snake might have been, but just the thought made me tense.

Our egg production enabled us to sell some of the excess. Each Saturday (in that time Saturdays in Nevada were when every farm family came to town) my mother took extra eggs and cream to the MFA to sell.

Those eggs from our free range chickens were nothing like the ones you buy in the store today. The rich dark color of the yolk and the flavor of those eggs made them a delicacy.

When cold weather came and the life cycle of our laying hens neared completion, the process turned to meat producing and storage. This butchering process might seem a bit indelicate but it was a necessary part of our food cycle.

We usually had several family members come by that day so we could complete everything quickly. My father and grandfather would begin the system by killing each chicken. They used a hatchet to quickly cut off the heads. The next step was to hold the chickens by the feet and dip them into scalding hot water so their feathers could more easily be stripped.

My mother, grandmother and some of the other aunts and cousins would then cut the chickens into regular pieces. They would put about one whole chicken and half of another in a freezer container filled with a light solution of saltwater before freezing.

In our home we would enjoy southern style fried chicken at least once a week year round. Both my mother and grandmother always used large cast iron skillets to fry the chicken. If you ask me, there is still not a better method than that system. There is something about the cast iron and the way it pan-fries chicken that just can’t be replicated in other methods.

One part of that southern fried system that is not often followed today is the type of grease one uses. Lard was a common grease for many cooks of that time. You can use modern vegetable oils to fry chicken, but if you want the true southern fried taste, you must have at least part of the grease contain some lard.

The way my mother cut her chicken pieces ensured that there was always a wishbone. One of our favorite things to do as kids was to have a pulley bone pulling contest. We would each take one side of the wishbone and begin to pull until it broke. The winner was the one whose side broke with the top of the wishbone still intact.

Southern fried chicken is really never complete without the accompanying country chicken gravy. I can rarely recall a chicken dinner that didn’t have mashed potatoes and chicken gravy as part of the fare.

Fried chicken was also a regular part of the menu when we went to picnics in those days. Once chicken is southern fried, it will keep safely for several hours. My grandmother always had a tablecloth that she put over her table to cover leftovers. It was not uncommon to find a few pieces of fried chicken under her tablecloth.

This old system might seem a bit crude to some sensitive people but compared to the factory breeding and killing methods used on factory farms it was quite humane. I don’t think you would enjoy seeing how many of the chickens are raised today.

I will not be raising any chicks or pullets these days, so Chicken Annie’s, Mary’s, or the Idle Hour will have to keep my appetite for southern fried chicken whetted. While I do love those venues, I wish that we had our own local southern fried chicken restaurant. For me and many Americans, it remains one of our favorite meals. Have I made you want to head to Frontenac?