Day 598: 5 Minute Freewrite: Monday - Prompt: Batter
I grew up in the city. Fried chicken joints on the corner everywhere in my hood.
But everybody in the family knew the best fried chicken was still deep in the heart of rural Texas, in Aunt Johnnie Mae's house.
When I was nine years old, I decided I needed to find out why.
So, I volunteered to help Aunt Johnnie Mae in the kitchen one year instead of playing outside with my siblings and cousins.
Aunt Johnnie Mae gave me the first clue then. She gave me a big hug and a kiss on my forehead and thanked me, and off we went to the kitchen.
Good fried chicken needs good batter. Aunt Johnnie Mae did a wet mix, then a dry one. Eggs, flour, salt, pepper in the wet mix, and what just looked like bread crumbs in the dry.
But then, Aunt Johnnie Mae reached into her magic cabinet. She must have taken down 15 or 20 jars, and a mortar and pestle. All kinds of things went into the bowl to be smashed together; she broke a sweat doing all that.
At the end, she had a strongly-scented, reddish-brown powder. She took all of it and scattered it in the bread crumbs and spent 10 minutes mixing all that together.
That was the secret. I know now that she was using herbs and spices that she mixed fresh every time. But I was also right when I was nine years old and saw her working everything together.
The secret ingredient was love.
Photo Credit: Katherine Hanlon on Unsplash