I'm No Vegetarian!

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I finally got to a store today. Not Stadium; I don't even know if the Broadway bus comes on Saturday, and it only passes once every forty minutes on week days.

There are about six groceries, all independently owned, under Affiliated Foods. They all sell the same generics, and often share the same advertising that comes in the mail.

So, I went to Fair & Square, straight on the Central Ave. (which runs only three blocks from my house) bus line. I thought they'd have the same ad as Stadium, and I could get a turkey there. But they didn't. And what they advertised was scant and over priced: normal, for the week after Thanksgiving.

But.

I forgot: chicken doesn't sell well Thanksgiving week. They had a dozen packages of whole, cut up friers, marked down to two pounds for a dollar! I got three, each less than two dollars. I froze two, and will fry one tonight. They had generic cigarettes on sale, too: still more expensive than the Pueblo Cultural Center, but enough to tide me over for a week.

I HATED getting off the bus there, a block from my old War Zone apartment, two blocks from the old boarding house. No trees. Bleak. Passersby on the street looking worn and crazy and depressed and frightened. It literally stank.

I got my food and walked to the bus stop, my hunting knife in my fist on the stroller handle.

A young Black man sat on a suitcase at the bus stop, head down.

I walked up and said, "Now, you've got your suitcase, and you're leaving this hell hole. Rejoice! You're getting out! Be glad! Get on that bus and NEVER come back here!"

He lifted his head and smiled. He got out of jail yesterday, came home to his wife and kids, and found her high as a kite on crack, the kids dirty, and THREE boyfriends in the filthy apartment! He'd spent the night in the alley behind her apartment, and was leaving now.

I shook his hand and said, "no place but up, Bro! I don't care WHAT you did that got you in jail, just don't ever do it again! Get you a job, even if it stinks. Get yourself a crib. Save up your money and get your KIDS BACK! Get them out, TOO!"

He nodded and laughed.

I recognized a lot of people, on the streets and on th bus. I didn't speak to any of them.

As the bus pulled out and passed my old streets, I waved and said, "so long, suckahs!"

I couldn't breathe easily again until I saw the cutesie college shops on my side of town.

I pulled up with my stroller, let my dog out on his lead, said hi to the cats and said, "it's so good to be home." And that word, "home," hung in the air like a chime. It's hard here, yes. But it ain't the HELL I endured for ten, miserable years over there! I sat out in the empty lot, looking at my dead garden and my frisking cats and dogs and just rejoiced, tears in my eyes. There are trees here. It's quiet here. My pets and I are safer here. There are options here.

I hadn't realized how small and frightened I'd become from ten years of that hell.

Now, here's my fried chicken recipe:

I mix some corn meal, flour and corn flakes (if I have any) with sage, cayenne pepper flakes, black pepper, onion powder and tumeric in a big, metal bowl. I smash the flakes.

In a smaller bowl, I beat an egg, add some water and just a sprinkle each of sugar and chicken boullion.

I coat the chicken in the egg batter. I put it in the flour and scoop flour over the chicken. I press it down so the flour sticks well.

Dip the floured chicken back in the egg batter, repeat coating with flour.

In an electric skillet (I like them because they have a thermostat), preheated to 350 degrees farenheit, I put just a dab of either vegetable oil or shortening. If I have some bacon grease, I'll add maybe a tablespoon or two of that.

I lay the chicken in so no piece touches another. I slosh the hot oil onto the sides of the pieces.

I fry, uncovered, until the bottoms are golden brown. Then, I turn the pieces and repeat.

Once both sides are sealed and crisp, I put the lid on the chicken. I open the steam vents, so the crusts won't get soggy. I cook until a meat thermometer, stuck in a thick piece of meat (breast or thigh, but don't touch bone, only meat; bones get hotter faster than meat), reads 180 degrees farenheit.

I put a wire rack over the pan and lift the pieces, one at a time, onto the rack to drain. Then, I lay the pieces on a plate, covered in paper napkins, to absorb any remaining oil.

Then I cook another batch. Don't crowd the chicken; it won't cook evenly, the crust will fall apart and get soggy.

I'm usually eating a piece as others are cooking. I just can't wait!

Off to cook chicken now!