Preparing chicken for a meal isn’t easy when it stares back at you.

Recipe:

2 tsp cornstarch

1/2 cup milk

4 boneless skinless chicken breast halves

1 tbs olive oil

1 tbs butter

1/2 lb sliced fresh mushrooms

1/2 medium onion, thinly sliced

1/4 cup red wine or chicken broth

1/2 tsp salt

1/8 tsp pepper

Mix cornstarch and milk until smooth. 

Pound chicken flat or slice in half lengthwise.

In large skillet, heat oil over medium heat.

Cook chicken until no longer pink, 5-6 min per side.

Remove from pan.

In same pan, heat buttter over medium-high heat. 

Sauté mushrooms and onion until tender.

Stir in wine, salt and pepper.

Bring to boil.

Stir cornstarch mixture and add to pan.

Return to boil.

Cook and stir until thickened, 1-2 min.

Return chicken to pan and heat through.

Serve over mashed potatoes, rice, cheese grits, whatever you want!

The story

My mom was raised on a farm. Her family grew most of the food they ate – including the meat. They ate true grass fed, non-GMO, humanely raised, cage-free, free range, heritage breed, and any other now-fancy adjective, meat. Bacon, ham, sausage, and on occasion, chicken graced their table alongside a selection of scratch made sides including cathead biscuits and gravy, cornbread on top of the stove cooked in bacon grease, fried potatoes, mashed potatoes, purple hull peas, boiled cabbage, or fried cut-off corn with freshly sliced garden tomatoes, just to name a few.

Now chicken was reserved for special occasions because chickens also provided eggs and so more chickens meant more fried eggs cooked in bacon grease for breakfast or ingredients for pies, cakes, or cookies. It was also even more labor intensive to make that meal. There was no running to the store to grab pre-packaged chicken breast, thighs, or drumsticks. There was, however, running into the yard and chasing down a living, breathing package of those items.

My grandmother, Josie, would kill, pluck, clean (I won’t explain this here – but if you want to know the graphic details, google it), and chop the chicken into pieces and proceed to fry it up. This skill most people used to have, was learned by watching others handle the task with few instructions verbalized.

My grandma apparently thought my mom should be well educated in this by the time she was 12. So she told my mom, Juanita, to go into the yard and wring the chicken’s neck. Being obedient, having watched the process numerous times, and receiving her mom’s vote of confidence, she proceeded to the yard where chickens roamed free.

She successfully caught a hen, which boosted her confidence, and placed one hand firmly around the chicken’s neck. Being squeamish about this task, she determined to make it quick, so she gave a few mighty circles of her arm, as she’d seen her mama do; and saw the dazed chicken staring back at her with a very unbroken, though slightly wobbly neck. She panicked, then gave a few more mighty circles and snaps of her arm. Flapping wings, kicking legs, and a writhing body ensured her she had again been unsuccessful. This did not happen to her mother who got the neck wrung with as few as 3 circles of the arm. She was approaching hysteria and so was the chicken, she assumed, as neither of them had ever seen this fiasco occur. So she quickly slung the bird in an arc again and when the chicken, still alive, stared back at her with its body now uncontrollably swinging from its pendulum-like neck, she had all she could take. She dropped that chicken and took off running to the house. The chicken wobbled off in the other direction, stumbling sideways like a drunk man due to its elongated sidewinding neck. 

My grandma heard her hit the door squealing and upon seeing no chicken in her hands, took off outside to find the poor bird. It was relatively easy to find – and catch – for obvious reasons. She grabbed it and ended the bird’s life with a couple quick snapping whips of the hand. 

I asked my mom if Granny scolded her or was mad. She said no. She just handled that issue as she did everything else that happened in her life – with understanding, patience and grace. And know-how born of need-to.

My mom has those same qualities. She handles everything that has been thrown at her. Except chicken killing. That is one thing she cannot, and will not do. Nor was she ever asked to again.