This afternoon I found myself craving fried chicken. More specifically, I was craving Kentucky Fried Chicken. I blame this craving on my Grandma. She grew up in the deep south and always made sure there was a fried chicken dinner when we came to visit. Most of the time se fried the chicken herself, but when she didn’t, there was KFC. As a result, I associate the taste of fried chicken with happy times and county fairs.
Today the solution to my craving was simple. I’d already promised the kids a trip to the park. I just turned the trip into a picnic as well. Picnics are invariably inconvenient. You have to haul all of the food to the picnic spot. Then you are plagued by wind and bugs and stray dogs and insufficient flat surfaces. Lift itself is rarely convenient. If we aren’t willing to accept some inconvenience for the sake of experience, then we will never do many of the things which make life worthwhile.
After all the inconvenient hauling and arranging was done, I sat on the park bench with the sun on my back and the taste of childhood in my mouth. My children did not properly appreciate the fried chicken. They haven’t had a southern grandmother the way I did. She is still around, but at 87 she doesn’t have much energy for cooking anymore. Link examines his chicken too closely and always finds “oogey bits” that he doesn’t want to eat. Patches declared that he was pretending that it was a dead chicken and that he was eating it. Gleek declared her absolute love for fried chicken, but was soon lured away by the siren call of the playground. Kiki would have appreciated the chicken, but she’s at girl’s camp this week. I’ll save some for her to eat when she gets home tomorrow.
Patches and Link soon followed Gleek to the playground and I was left alone with the detritus of the picnic. I pondered a little as I cleaned up. KFC is an indulgence that I rarely allow for myself. It is expensive and it isn’t allowed anywhere near the list of healthy foods. Because we have it so rarely, I don’t think it will hold the same magic for my kids when they are grown as it does for me. I watched them play and wondered what they will crave instead. What foods that I feed them now will they associate with happiness and security? Key Lime Pie yogurt will probably make all of their lists, but I really don’t know what else will. Comfort food is not dictated by logic or planning.
We had a very enjoyable couple of hours at the park. I’m so glad that I don’t have to trail within three feet of my kids anymore. Now as long as I can see them, I can sit on a bench and write or read while they play. This fact makes me much more willing to stay for hours. I would get so bored following kids around and telling them to be careful. When all the running was done we came home tired, dirty, and with left over fried chicken to snack on. It was a good outing.
I used to make fried potatoes for breakfast, several times a week. Thanks to genetics and the doctor getting on my case, potatoes are now off the list (starch–>sugar–>diabetes here). Still, my daughter asks for them from time to time and they’ve now become a once a month treat. I hope that’s something she’ll take with her.
I dislike KFC, mainly because it always seems to take three years to get food.
That said, my father makes some mean wings. I know at least one person who’s a vegetarian except for dad’s wings.
Vorn
Dang it, I shouldn’t have read this! Now I’m craving fried chicken! 🙂
Thinking about comfort foods… I have very few. The ones I do consider comfort foods were meals that were either invented out of necessity in our poor family or foods we ate far too often because they were cheap and relatively healthy. Cornbread, milk and honey (yes, all mashed together in one bowl) is one of them. Cracked wheat cereal from the crockpot is another. Scrambled eggs and toast. Things I rolled my eyes at as a kid, but that now hold in them a strange savor accompanied by the knowledge that my parents did their very best with raising us- and that’s all that they could do, and it was good enough.
So, um…
Who’s gonna break the news to young Patches that it is actually a dead chicken, and thus pretending is not required?