Final Monday Microfiction Contest -- Prompt: Batter
I grew up with chicken shacks 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 that year.
Aunt Johnnie Mae gave me the first clue then. She gave me a big hug, 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 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 spent 10 minutes mixing all that into the bread crumbs.
That was the secret. I know now that she was using herbs and spices. But I was right when I was nine years old, too.
The secret ingredient was love.
Photo Credit: Pratiksha Mohanty on Unsplash
Love it, @deeanndmathews! This is a sweet story, and I love how you captured the child's view of the magic of the kitchen.