Southern Fried Chicken
I can still hear the clink of plates and the small footsteps of my kids as I lift the fried chicken into the pan. The house fills with that warm, …
I can still hear the clink of plates and the small footsteps of my kids as I lift the fried chicken into the pan. The house fills with that warm, …
I can still hear my little ones padding across the kitchen tiles, plates clinking and voices low with the hush of waiting. The smell of frying flour and warm spices …
The kitchen smelled like browned butter and late summer tomatoes, while my son rattled the fork drawer and my daughter stacked napkins with careful pride. That familiar hush falls over …
I can still hear the clink of plates as my children set the table, the kind of clatter that only means something good is on its way. The kitchen smells …
There is a moment in my kitchen I wait for every time I make this dish. It is the soft clatter of plates while the golden chicken finishes, the smell …
I can still hear the soft clatter of plates as my kids set the table, the way they tiptoe past the stove to sneak a peek. The smell of sizzling …
I can still smell the warm, savory steam rising as my kids set the table, napkins flapping as if they are auditioning for a dinner play. The sound of their …
I can still hear the clink of plates and the rustle of a paper napkin as my youngest drags a chair to the table. In the oven, a golden biscuit …
I can still hear the clink of plates as my kids set the table, their small voices bubbling with talk of school projects while a warm, savory smell drifts from …
I can still hear the clink of plates and the small rush of feet as my family crowds the kitchen table while something warm simmers on the stove. The smell …