My mother made the best fried chicken. Always in a cast iron skillet. No waffles, biscuits and gravy.
I was about 6-7 years old and back in the states to visit my widowed grandfather in Georgia. He had a chicken coop and wanted fried chicken. My mom went to the coop and grabbed a fat hen. As she walked by a large wash tub she with a flick of her wrist snapped the chickens neck and dropped it in the tub. Turns out prepping the hen was her job as a child. I decided then and there I wasnt messing with her ever again.
Miss you mom.