me, according to poultry
(the most personal piece I’ve ever shared)
Hey friends –
Today is my 35th birthday, and I’ve decided to do something a little different.
Instead of a new recipe, I’m sharing a short memoir-ish essay that I’ve been noodling on a while, that I finally feel ready to share. As it tends to go in my life, this essay is centered around food – specifically about one ingredient, and how that ingredient has been a through-line in my life, and how it’s played a role in shaping the person that I’ve become.
And so, without further ado, here’s my kinda weird, very personal, food-focused essay: Me, according to poultry.
Age 7 – Great Aunt Bertha’s house – Easley, SC
This house is small and it smells like old people. Which makes sense, because two old people live here. Mom tells me I shouldn’t say things like that out loud, but then she also says I should always tell the truth, so which is it? The smallest room in this house is the kitchen, and that’s where we spend most of our time when we come to visit. Today Aunt Bertha made fried chicken, and I got to stand next to the stove and watch. She made sure I was far enough away that I didn’t get splashed by the hot grease, but close enough to see the chicken sizzle and turn from white to dark crispy brown. We eat together outside under the big old pecan tree, plates heavy with fried chicken, green beans, and warm biscuits slathered in butter. It’s so good and we’re so busy eating that I don’t notice the mosquitos biting the backs of my legs, and they leave itchy, round welts that I scratch and scratch until they bleed and leave scars – souvenirs from the best dinner of my seven year old life.
Age 9 – The family minivan – St. Louis, MO
It’s hot in the back of the minivan, squished between my sister and brother, and my bare legs are sticking to the seats. Mom calls back at us to stop fighting, the food will be out any minute. The McDonald’s drive-thru is our regular after school stop – cheeseburger Happy Meal for Lauren and Michael, Diet Coke for Mom, and a chicken nugget Happy Meal for me. We pry open the warm paper boxes as soon as they land in our laps, and the car is quiet as we eat and lick the salty grease off our fingers.
Age 14 – Cunetto's Italian Restaurant – St. Louis, MO
The waiter approaches my seat at the table and I steel my resolve.