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That's the way they did it on the farm my dad grew up on in TN. Grab it by it's head, swing it around, then pop up against a tree or even in the air if you're good, sort of like cracking a whip. My dad has been gone since the 70's but I still remember how he'd roar with laughter at the thought of his sister trying to learn to do that. She never did get it right. Poor chicken. She ended up getting really mad since the family was roaring with laughter at her so she grabbed up an axe and did the poor dizzy bird in that way. I use kill cones. And my family is not allowed to watch LOL.
That's how my grandmother did it in East Tennessee. She wanted to fry chicken, she'd start heating the grease in the iron skillet, go out to the corner of her backyard where she kept the year's young cockerels, corner a likely prospect, grab him by the head, and in two revolutions of the body it was over. Then she'd sit on a stump while the bird bled out (the head separates from the body) and pluck him in her apron. Two quick slits and out came the guts, tossed over the fence to the neighbor's coonhounds, then it was into the kitchen, a quick dismemberment, salt and pepper and paprika, then into the bag of flour, into the milk, back into the flour, and right into the grease--the cover on for half an hour or so, then turning, and the cover off. The whole process took an hour and a half, max. That's how her mother taught her, back in the 1890s. And her mother's mother, and her mother's mother's mother.
Of course I fancy things up, being a sophisticated moderne, but that don't make it no better, as she'd say.
That's the way they did it on the farm my dad grew up on in TN. Grab it by it's head, swing it around, then pop up against a tree or even in the air if you're good, sort of like cracking a whip. My dad has been gone since the 70's but I still remember how he'd roar with laughter at the thought of his sister trying to learn to do that. She never did get it right. Poor chicken. She ended up getting really mad since the family was roaring with laughter at her so she grabbed up an axe and did the poor dizzy bird in that way. I use kill cones. And my family is not allowed to watch LOL.
That's how my grandmother did it in East Tennessee. She wanted to fry chicken, she'd start heating the grease in the iron skillet, go out to the corner of her backyard where she kept the year's young cockerels, corner a likely prospect, grab him by the head, and in two revolutions of the body it was over. Then she'd sit on a stump while the bird bled out (the head separates from the body) and pluck him in her apron. Two quick slits and out came the guts, tossed over the fence to the neighbor's coonhounds, then it was into the kitchen, a quick dismemberment, salt and pepper and paprika, then into the bag of flour, into the milk, back into the flour, and right into the grease--the cover on for half an hour or so, then turning, and the cover off. The whole process took an hour and a half, max. That's how her mother taught her, back in the 1890s. And her mother's mother, and her mother's mother's mother.
Of course I fancy things up, being a sophisticated moderne, but that don't make it no better, as she'd say.