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Chuck Hinman IJMA 078: Fried Chicken Chuck Hinman. It's Just Me Again No. 078: Mom's Fried Chicken The next earlier Chuck Hinman story: Mom's Little Helper Boy Is Chuck Hinman your favorite Sunday with CM columnist, as many tell us? If so, we hope you'll drop him a line by email. Reader comments to CM are appreciated, as are emails directly to Mr. Hinman at: charles.hinman@sbcglobal.net By Chuck Hinman It's summertime seventy-seven years ago (1933). I am an eleven year old barefoot Nebraska farm boy. It's 10:30 AM and Mom is planning dinner for her family of five. Today's dinner is strutting around in the front yard, crowing and showing off before the rest of the flock. He is a white leghorn rooster to be selected by Mom. She puts on a sun bonnet and light jacket and heads out toward the cave with a bucket of boiling water. That was the site of all her grizzly work so her family could enjoy a wonderful meal without knowing the sordid details in the preparation of that meal. She scatters a can of shelled corn on the ground to entice the chickens. With a six foot length of stiff wire with a hook, she snags the leg of the fryer that is going to be our dinner. In minutes, the chicken (minus its head) is dunked in the steaming hot water and its feathers removed. Then she singes off the tiny pin feathers with a burning newspaper - it just takes a minute and she is headed toward the kitchen with the de-headed, de-feathered chicken in the bucket. We had a large white porcelain table in the kitchen that Mom used for everything from rolling out pie dough, drying noodles, canning, sprinkling the laundry for ironing, and yes, cutting up the chicken for frying. With a pan of cold water she gave the chicken a soap bath, removed its golden legs, and with a paring knife began the surgical process of gutting the chicken and cutting it in pieces - two each of drum sticks, thighs, and wings. There was a large but not very meaty piece that consisted of the upper back (ribs) and neck. There was a second back piece that included the tail. Mom made two pieces out of the very meaty breast piece, the white meat. She knew where to cut the breast piece to get a piece the Hinman kids knew as the "wishbone." We became very skilled in getting the advantage in breaking the wishbone so we got to close our eyes and make the wish. Mom rinsed all the pieces of cut-up chicken and left them in a colander to drip dry while she stoked the fire in the wood burning cook stove. She got the big old black iron skillet out of the oven where she stored it, put it on the stove and added a generous portion of lard. When the lard was melting and spitting she put a hand full of flour (she didn't waste time with measuring devices) in a pie tin added some salt and Watkins pepper and stirred it with her experience-educated index finger. Then she coated each piece in the flour mixture, before nestling each piece in the hot skillet. She seemed to be oblivious to the splattering hot lard as she placed each piece in a particular place in the skillet where it was turned only once. Well dinner is about ready to be served, the chicken is on a platter in the warming oven, the potatoes are mashed and in a holding pattern on the back part of the stove, and it's time to make the milk gravy in the skillet she just fried the chicken in. She scrapes and loosens the "stuff" on the bottom of the skillet before stirring in the flour mixture on the pie tin she had dipped the chicken in before frying. Then she adds milk and stirs continuously until the gravy is bubbly and thickened to the right consistency. If the men are working in the field on this hot summer day, she goes to the back porch and with her apron "ya-hoos" them to come and eat. They have been watching for this signal. After Dad offers the blessing, each of us digs in to one of the best dinners in southeastern Nebraska featuring Mom Hinman's good ol' fried chicken, topped off with her famous custard pie. This story was posted on 2010-08-01 06:54:41
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Have comments or corrections for this story? Use our contact form and let us know. More articles from topic Chuck Hinman - Reminiscences:
Chuck Hinman, IJMA 109: Little Helper Boy Chuck Hinman, IJMA 115: The Time Mom Taught Me To Control My Temper Chuck Hinman, IJMA 079: Advice for Retirement: Kitchen Rules Chuck Hinman, IJMA 033: Cherry Canning Chuck Hinman, IJMA No. 139: What I Miss Most Chuck Hinman, IJMA 008: My First Dance Chuck Hinman, IJMA No. 88: The Grocery Cart Story Chuck Hinman, IJMA No. 022: Teenagers: Where Do They Fit? Chuck Hinman, IJMA No. 014: My Running Days Chuck Hinman, IJMA No. 013: Funniest Weddings View even more articles in topic Chuck Hinman - Reminiscences |
 
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