I got a hankering for some fried chicken the other day that wouldn’t go away. I could have chased down a chicken, rung his neck, plucked, gutted and got my wife to cook him, but who has time for that? So, I did what most people do and went to the fried chicken place. It’s in the middle of town and easy to get to. I decided to use the convenient drive through. Of course, I could have gone inside and sat down to eat my chicken, but I didn’t have the time. I even knew exactly what I wanted, two pieces of chicken, white meat please and it seemed so simple. As I pulled up to the talking sign, I had a few seconds to browse the menu. I was amazed at how many ways I could have my chicken prepared and my mind started to wander. I knew all about fried chicken. As a teenager I was the cook at a fried chicken place in Pineville and had learned all of the chicken basics. Eight pieces to every chicken, drop them in the grease without splashing then set the timer. When the timer goes off, scoop them up and throw them under the lights. My brotherin- law was the manager, and my sister was the assistant manager. Never mind that I had never cooked anything before, anyone can fry chicken. Sunday was the big day at the fried chicken place. Our restaurant was surrounded by churches large and small and church got out at 12:00 noon. The church people are coming, the church people are coming, drop ten birds! The owner’s motto was you get your chicken with your change but on Sunday that wasn’t always the case. Some people didn’t mind waiting, knowing their chicken was freshly fried. Twelvepiece orders were common on Sunday cause Mama ain’t cooking today.