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.
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