I remember growing up, we always went to Grandmaws after church for Sunday dinner. She had two long tables spread with food. All the aunts, uncles and cousins would be there. Everyones favorite was the fried chicken. It would often be in a dish sitting beside a fried squirrel or rabbit. As I can remember, at one time, she did all the preparing herself from ringing their necks to plucking and skinning. Then she would fry them in her own special batter.
The family grew bigger, she grew older and papaw passed away, so there came a time she had to give it up. The smell of Sunday dinner was forever absorbed in the walls of that old house. She later moved into a retirement home where we visited often. I wish I would have visited more. I can still vision her standing in the kitchen with silver wavey hair, wearing a handmade shirt and apron trimmed with ruffles.
Up until the day she passed away, there would always be chicken on her stove top, in a basket wraped in a tea towel. It did not seem to matter to anyone that it sat out all day or that it was cold. It was grandmaws fried chicken and it was good either way. She always had chicken, cornbread and some sort of cake or fritters waiting for company.
As years passed, my family would still enjoy chicken dinners after church but we would all head down to Kentucky Fried Chicken. It was not near as good as grandmaws, but with a family of six, it was an affordable way to feed us. A bucket of extra crunchy chicken with all the fixins would satisfy.
This past weekend, the family met for my brothers birthday dinner. No, we didnt have chicken even though mom can make it almost like her mom. We had country style steak instead. While visiting, somebody found an old kentucky fried chicken bucket, dated 1969, laying around.