Sunday's Fried Chicken Curse

BUTTERMILK-SOAKED FRIED CHICKEN
Prep Time: 10 minutes
Marinate Time: 30 minutes
Cook Time: 30 minutes
Serves: 4

BUTTERMILK-SOAKED FRIED CHICKEN
Ingredients
1 1/2 cups cups buttermilk
3 teaspoons Lawry's® Seasoned Salt
2 1/2 to 3 pounds chicken, cut into serving pieces
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon Lawry's® Seasoned Pepper
Vegetable oil for frying
Directions
1. In large, resealable plastic bag, combine buttermilk with 1 teaspoon Lawry's® Seasoned Salt. Add chicken; turn to coat. Close bag and marinate in refrigerator 30 minutes.

2. Remove chicken from marinade, discarding marinade. In another large, resealable plastic bag, combine flour, remaining 1 teaspoon Seasoned Salt and pepper. Add chicken, one piece at a time, and shake to coat well.

3. Meanwhile, in deep 12-inch skillet, heat 1-inch oil to 365°. Add chicken and cook, turning twice, 25 minutes or until chicken is golden brown and thoroughly cooked. Drain on rack or paper towels.

My Uncle Bob was a frugal collector. He especially liked barber bottles. I found several nice ones for him and he added them to the ones which were his fathers. But buy one himself...I don't think so. Unfortunately, Uncle Bob was diagnosed with Parkinson disease and somehow he had wrung a promise from Aunt Grace that she would keep him at home and care for him herself. (Aunt Grace wasn't as sharp as she had once been and I was not quick to note that.)

It was the summer of 1986. We had moved into our dream house, the house we had waited for for fifteen years. So I had been less than helpful to Grace that summer. To make up for it, late in the summer before my school was to start, I dressed up, picked flowers, and drove to Aunt Grace and Uncle Bob's in Lancaster. Bob was in really bad shape, but she had him clean as a hound's tooth and as comfortable as could be expected with all the pulleys and electrical equipment needed to care for a complete invalid who still had a sharp mind but could not speak. (She had a weak mind at the time but could speak plenty, and, she had a gun.

I drove to my mother's and told her if she and my nieces wanted to see Bob, they had better make it fast. Knowing that her sister liked to eat, but did not have time to cook, my mother, who was unwell herself, prepared a large chicken and noodle dinner with hot biscuits and gravy. The troop arrived around noon with fried chicken in hand. As soon as Grace smelled the chicken everything, including Bob, was forgotten. Though everyone else was hungry too, they showed good manners by insisting on visiting with Bob first. The chicken smell was causing Aunt Grace to nearly swoon and she could not wait one more minute to tuck into it. My mother, however, noticed that Bob was in a lot worse condition that anyone had thought. "Grace", my mother said, "There is something wrong with Bob; he does not look right."

"Oh, he always looks like that, let's eat", was her wifely reply. Not one to drop a point until it was well taken, Mother persisted in talking Bob talk to each and ever member of the hungry cast. No one paid Mother any attention, they were eating and eating well. Knowing a dead man when she saw one, Mother whined on until finally Grace threw down her fifth piece of chicken with one hand and her fourth biscuit with the other and said she'd take a look at Bob. Guess what? He was dead...had been for some time. The Keystone cops got right to work and called an ambulance to whisk away poor, dead Bob. It was close to 98 degrees that day and before the paper work was taken care of, they put Bob in the ambulance where he baked for about an hour before the arrangements were made. "This heat is NOT good for Bob, lamented Mother, as steam rose from the hearse- like vehicle which would take Bob away for the last time.

I'll never forget the inspiring eulogy that the preacher gave Uncle Bob. He knew his subject and knew him well and the entire congregation seemed to will Bob to heaven on a cloud of love. Finally it had all been said and the preacher stopped with the final question--"What more can I say?" An unfortunate ending, for my husband amened with"Pass the chicken."
Note:
After careful consideration it was thought best if Andy and I skipped the open grave ceremony, since neither of us could promise to behave. Since that day a fried chicken curse has settled on this house and although I know this recipe to be very good, I cannot make it and must rely on the kindness of others. Also, the picture of the chicken refuses to show up on this site.