Tag Archives: fried chicken

Where Are YOU From?

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Years ago, I took on a writing challenge to create a poem from a template with the resulting work informing readers about myself and my family history. This is the result, a poem I had the privilege of reading at my father’s funeral. I regret he never had the opportunity to read it before he passed away. But then, Dad also knew where I was from.

Where are you from?

Heritage

I am from buttered bread

sometimes with Welch’s jam.

I am from the hand pump on the back porch

that spewed out ice-cold water

and you weren’t really thirsty

but you had to take

your Saturday night bath.

I am from the lily of the valley

growing under the lilac bushes,

the scent sucked in just before

you gave them to Mama

who loved them more than you.

I am from Sunday morning nip and tuck.

Dawdling ‘round from Uncle Bud,

cousin Toad and his counterpart, the Frog.

I am from the way we tease and laugh out loud.

From “Stop that squirming”

and “Bow your head.”

I am from a Bible Mama plum wore out.

From Daddy’s faithful Christmas and Easter Sabbaths.

I’m from the middle of a little bitty place

and a rich Christian heritage

across the Rhine River in Germany.

From fried chicken. And apple pie

in a bowl with milk poured on.

From the toddler who drank fuel oil

putting scare into us all;

a vision of stomach pumps not quite real.

From the backyard wedding of my sister

and a reception in the woods where we

ate picnic style licking barbecue from our fingers.

I am from the tattered black pages of an album

Dad pulls out on his little whims.

Repeating names I’ve heard a thousand times

but won’t remember, he tells me I am from

these folks of buttered bread, hand pumps,

laugh out loud, and worn out Bibles.

 

copyright by Paula Geister 2005

Shake it Up, Foodie

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As a busy young mother (oh, so many years ago), I took shortcuts in the kitchen if I could. Because it gave baked chicken a flavor my husband liked (and because someone came up with an easy way to add flavor and crispiness to baked chicken), Shake ‘n Bake brand coating mix was a staple in our house.

Not anymore. I prefer to make my own ‘mixes’ when I can from ingredients I have in my cupboards. That way I know what’s in it and avoid additives. The flavors are usually the same and sometimes even better (depending on how I tinker with the concoction) than the so-called original.

Here’s my coating mix recipe for meat––chicken or pork––you can make easily. In fact, if you don’t want to make it up ahead of time and store it, you only need a few minutes to mix it up while you’re preparing dinner. The recipe is easily doubled or tripled.chicken-in-pan

Crispy Coating Baking Mix

  • 1 c. bread crumbs
  • 1/2 c. flour
  • 2 t. garlic powder
  • 2 t. poultry seasoning
  • 1 t. paprika
  • salt and pepper to taste

Combine all ingredients (shake ’em up in a plastic bag, if you want!). The recipe as written coats all the pieces of a whole chicken. Obviously, for more or less chicken, use more or less mix. It’s good on pork chops too, but you may want to substitute a combination of basil, oregano and rosemary for the poultry seasoning.

Store in a tightly sealed container or zipper bag. Depending on the humidity, you can store in the cupboard up to 4 months. DO NOT store any mix which has already been used for coating meat. Toss it!

I make my own bread crumbs too. I just chug 3-4 slices of bread around in the blender until they’re finely ground, stopping to stir the larger pieces toward the blades. When I want an Italian flavor as in the commercially prepared Italian crumbs, I add 1 t. Italian seasoning for every 4 slices of bread. Another variation you can try is adding 1 1/2 t. of ranch dressing mix, but that defeats the purpose of avoiding additives. Folks with gluten intolerances: you know how to adapt ingredients.

When baking chicken, just like when you’re frying, coating mix stays on better when you dip it in a mixture of 1/2 c. buttermilk and one beaten egg. It also gives it a Southern-fried flavor.

So there you go. You can shake it and bake it with your own homemade mix. I’m happy to say, “And I helped!”

Eat Hardy!

 

Where Are YOU From?

Posted on by

0

Years ago, I took on a writing challenge to create a poem from a template with the resulting work informing readers about myself and my family history. This is the result, a poem I had the privilege of reading at my father’s funeral. I regret he never had the opportunity to read it before he passed away. But then, Dad also knew where I was from.

Where are you from?

 

Heritage

I am from buttered bread

sometimes with Welch’s jam.

I am from the hand pump on the back porch

that spewed out ice-cold water

and you weren’t really thirsty

but you had to take

your Saturday night bath.

I am from the lily of the valley

growing under the lilac bushes,

the scent sucked in just before

you gave them to Mama

who loved them more than you.

I am from Sunday morning nip and tuck.

Dawdling ‘round from Uncle Bud,

cousin Toad and his counterpart, the Frog.

I am from the way we tease and laugh out loud.

From “Stop that squirming”

and “Bow your head.”

I am from a Bible Mama plum wore out.

From Daddy’s faithful Christmas and Easter Sabbaths.

I’m from the middle of a little bitty place

and a rich Christian heritage

across the Rhine River in Germany.

From fried chicken. And apple pie

in a bowl with milk poured on.

From the toddler who drank fuel oil

putting scare into us all;

a vision of stomach pumps not quite real.

From the backyard wedding of my sister

and a reception in the woods where we

ate picnic style licking barbecue from our fingers.

I am from the tattered black pages of an album

Dad pulls out on his little whims.

Repeating names I’ve heard a thousand times

but won’t remember, he tells me I am from

these folks of buttered bread, hand pumps,

laugh out loud, and worn out Bibles.

 

copyright by Paula Geister 2005