Iron Skillet Chicken

We traveled to Lakeview, Oregon to look at a car auction when I was nine-years-old. I remember being told not to raise my hand during the action because my dad didn’t really want to buy an antique car. And of course, I raised my hand causing all sorts of commotion. I was outbid and everything went back to normal. I still see my mom’s surprised face and feeling sheepish.

After the auction, we went by the Chinese restaurant by mom liked. However, for some reason they must have been crowded because we drove by without going in. I was very hungry and figured we weren’t going to eat for another hour. I was worried!

I used to try and use my thoughts from the back seat to get my dad do things. I would scrunch up my face and think about they thing I wanted him do. I was so busy projecting my mind, I don’t know if others noticed. Mom’s been dead for a long time, so I have no way to ask her and dad, was too busy driving to notice.

Anyway, my mind power must have worked because we stopped at a diner with a hung skillet on the roof. It looked like a promising place. Inside, they were all eating fried chicken, biscuits, corn cobs, and mashed potatoes. What a sight! We ordered and I waited for the chicken to cook. The kitchen became dark; a cook had let the iron skillet get too hot and the oil burned. When he dropped the chicken down, it popped in the oil, and quickly seared the juices inside.

I was over the top excited about this meal. And it didn’t disappoint. We left the restaurant and barely a mile down the road I was sleeping and dreaming about that meal.

© 2018, Michael Shawn Sommermeyer. All rights reserved.

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