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    Fried Chicken

    Uploaded by

    Jay Tayoto
    The document discusses the author's memories and experiences with fried chicken from childhood to present. It describes fried chicken made by the author's father as salty, fried chicken ordered in their hometown as bland, and fried chicken made by the author's mother as sweet. The author expresses missing their family and home, and tasting the sweetness of their mother's fried chicken as reminiscent of home.

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    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd

    Fried Chicken

    Uploaded by

    Jay Tayoto
    39 views1 page
    The document discusses the author's memories and experiences with fried chicken from childhood to present. It describes fried chicken made by the author's father as salty, fried chicken ordered in their hometown as bland, and fried chicken made by the author's mother as sweet. The author expresses missing their family and home, and tasting the sweetness of their mother's fried chicken as reminiscent of home.

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    The document discusses the author's memories and experiences with fried chicken from childhood to present. It describes fried chicken made by the author's father as salty, fried chicken ordered in their hometown as bland, and fried chicken made by the author's mother as sweet. The author expresses missing their family and home, and tasting the sweetness of their mother's fried chicken as reminiscent of home.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as docx, pdf, or txt
    39 views1 page

    Fried Chicken

    Uploaded by

    Jay Tayoto
    The document discusses the author's memories and experiences with fried chicken from childhood to present. It describes fried chicken made by the author's father as salty, fried chicken ordered in their hometown as bland, and fried chicken made by the author's mother as sweet. The author expresses missing their family and home, and tasting the sweetness of their mother's fried chicken as reminiscent of home.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as docx, pdf, or txt
    of 1

    The taste of Fried chicken by Jon Jared Tayoto (Inspired by Just another spaghetti)

    Whenever my hand would pick up that big, juicy, well seasoned, marinated, deep-fried chicken,
    eating eat from flesh to bone, with a crispy sound of crunches in my mouth, bite after bite- there's no
    reason that I will be drooling and savoring another part of that fried-chicken. Ever since I was a kid, fried
    chicken has been my life Source. Christmas, New year's eve, Birthdays, anniversaries, special events, I
    will always be welcoming fried-chicken with open arms. It is a stable menu that can be paired with alot
    of dishes. And yet, the moment that I moved away for High school is where my love for chicken started
    to wander off.

    Salty fried-chicken. Currently, I'm staying in Gensan to pursue my High school diploma. Before
    the school year starts, I went back to my hometown In Gensan from Marbel because I wanted to finish
    my schooling at SPED Integrated School In GSC. Homesick, I started to remember my father's cooking. He
    would soon inherit my mother's recipe on how to cook that special fried-chicken. A kilo of chicken plus
    seasoning of salt and pepper. There was no special ingredient, yet the way it becomes unique is it's way
    of cooking. There would be a technique followed by my mother and father in order to achieve that
    perfectly cooked fried chicken. And yet, although similar in looks, my father's would always become
    more salty than usual. Regardless the taste, it would still feel like it was something irreplaceable. We
    would eat and talk together at our table, listening to each other's stories. Sadly, I was long away from
    home. Our communication has now dimmed. And him, cooking his own version of fried chicken would
    no longer reach my gluttonous appetite. And that saltiness became bland.

    Bland fried chicken. I knew how to cook, but the house that I'm currently staying at here in
    Gensan lacks on equipment. I remembered those days during the pandemic, I would always try new
    dishes to cook especially fried chicken. But now, instead of cooking it myself, I started ordering. Every
    time I had some spare change, I would always take the opportunity to buy fried chicken near our street
    on the way home. It was not something special, and yet all I know is that it's bland and crispy.
    Sometimes I'll leave my chicken out in the open and get some water. And upon returning, my food would
    always vanish. Soon enough my aunt's dog would always come inside the house and bite my fried
    chicken away when I'm gone. That wasn't always the case, but when it does, I would always laugh at my
    own misery. Laughing alone made me remember the times when my family and I ordered fried chicken.
    It was bland and yet we ordered there anytime we wanted to have instant fried chicken. We would share
    some of our own memories and our own laughs at that place. But now that we're separated, I can now
    distinguish a bland fried chicken from a a sweet one.

    Sweet fried chicken. Whenever my hand would pick up that big, juicy, well seasoned, marinated,
    deep-fried chicken, eating eat from flesh to bone, with a crispy sound of crunches in my mouth, bite
    after bite- there's no reason that I will be drooling and savoring another part of that fried-chicken, my
    mother's fried chicken. Last year on my birthday she would make tons of fried chicken. She would never
    leave any ingredients behind and will go all out even if we can't finish it all. But this year I celebrated my
    Birthday alone and without her cooking. I miss home, as much I miss eating salty, or bland fried chicken
    with my family. I miss my mom as much as I miss her version of Fried chicken - the one that I grew up
    with. Whenever fried chicken is served, it would now always taste sweet. The sweetness that I would call
    – home.

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