Grandmomma, whom everybody but us called “Blossom,” used to say a chicken was good for more than just frying, baking, or smothering in a sauce.
“Hona chil’, I kin tell ya, ’cause I fo’ know,” she’d say. “Ah been cookin’ all mah days, an’ Ah know dem chickens in dat yard.” And sho’nuff, she had a particular pullet in mind when she set out to make chicken salad. She would walk into the coop, toss some cracked corn at her feet, and watch the chickens rush in around her. She would spot