I want a farm. Nearly every summer, when I was a kid, we would visit my Mom’s parents for a week. They were pig farmers. I was always fascinated by their way of life. Particularly interested in the facts that lunch was called dinner and that it always involved fried chicken (killed personally by my Grandma), you only “went into town” twice a month, my Grandma had kittens living under her house and that my Grandpa used a spittoon in the living room and drank moonshine “secretly” in his tool shed. The desire to have a farm somewhat died in me for a number of years (when I was working full-time or rather all-the-time), but now it is back in full-force. My partner is behind this idea and even seems pretty adamant about us raising Alpaca, too. Who knows if this will ever happen, but it seems logical that one day we could be the lesbian Fabulous Beekman Boys...only not boys. Until that time, in honor of my Grandma Wall (her first name was Clover…for real), I made fried chicken last night. It was delicious. I should have made it for lunch which would be called dinner instead of lunch. This isn’t her recipe, but it is Martha Stewart’s…sorry to say Martha, but my Grandma Clover’s chicken was better. I would suggest trying this recipe though because it was pretty freaking good nonetheless.