Crispy fried chicken: My Family’s Fried Chicken
Lets fry some chicken! Soul food is a living recipe — absorbing a rhythm so deeply you could cook it with your eyes closed. The “instructions” might not look like a recipe at all. They might just say: Cook it until it smells like Sunday.
Cook It Until It Smells Like Sunday:
Soul food is a living recipe — absorbing a rhythm so deeply you could cook it with your eyes closed.
The “instructions” might not look like a recipe at all. They might just say: Cook it until it smells like Sunday.
It’s muscle memory cooking. You don’t think “1 teaspoon of salt,” you think “a little shake until it looks right.” That comes from years of watching, tasting, and adjusting — not measuring.
It’s Flavor DNA. Families who cook this way develop a flavor fingerprint. Even if each person tweaks it slightly, the soul of the dish stays the same. You could eat it blindfolded and know it’s yours.
It’s the opposite of those viral recipe videos that rely on exact steps. You never needed a cooking class from your mom or grandpa. Just standing in the kitchen, smelling the onions, seeing how the spoon moves, hearing them say “not yet” — all of that was the class.
Whether you mean to or not, you’re keeping your family’s food culture alive. And because it’s not written down, it stays flexible — adapting to what’s available, yet always tasting like home.
How We Fry Chicken in My Family
We’re a white-meat family — and we never fry a dry breast. Ever. Here’s how we do it. No exact recipe, no fussy measuring. Just the rhythm we’ve always used.
Step 1: Clean the chicken.
Pat it dry with paper towels so the seasoning sticks.
Step 2: Season it up.
Salt, pepper, Lawry’s seasoned salt. Sometimes garlic powder (though my mom doesn’t like too much of it). Maybe a dash of hot sauce if you’re feeling it.
Step 3: Heat the oil.
Get out that big black cast iron pot that lives at the back of the stove. Vegetable oil works, but if you want the real move? Crisco shortening.
Step 4: Make the coating.
In a paper or plastic bag, toss in flour, salt, pepper, a few shakes of cornstarch (about 3/4 tablespoon), and a sprinkle of baking powder or soda (about 1/2 teaspoon). Shake it up.
Step 5: Test the oil.
Drop in a pinch of flour. If it sizzles like it’s got something to prove, it’s ready.
Step 6: Fry in batches.
About 3–4 pieces at a time. Flip a few times until each side is deep golden brown and floating around like they know they’re done.
Step 7: Let it breathe.
When you pull the chicken out, place it on a wire rack — like the bottom of a roasting pan. No paper towels. Just air. Paper will make the crust soft and soak up the oil you worked so hard to get right.
That’s it. No timer, no thermometer, no fancy flour blend. Just the way my family has done it for generations — by feel, by smell, and by taste.
If you follow it, you’re not just making fried chicken…
You’re making Sunday.
WHat do you think?