What is it? Fried chicken. Not very healthful I know, not very modern. We dip the chicken pieces in milk, then roll the pieces in seasoned flour, then fry it in hot oil until it's crisp and brown. I only just figured this all out...figured out the right seasonings to make it just salty enough. My sister and I got together today with all our kids at her house and while the wild things were outside, she and I were "little" again. Like long ago, we were eating fried chicken wings way before dinner was officially served, hanging around a hot kitchen, making sure to avoid splattering oil when the lid got lifted. We took our first bites of this first-time recipe I found and smiled and nodded and said, "Just like mom's...a real accomplishment."

Our mother was a Mexican transplanted national - she never settled here in the United States despite her having gotten here in 1957. Unlike my father who was an Israeli immigrant. He had no problem shedding his past and adopting new ways and a new language. The result was a lot of difficulty for her. But when it came to creating dishes, she was there at the top of her game no matter what the struggle. Even in her last year, when my brother would show up at her place after a late night, when he needed "home," she'd get up from bed and make him a dinner. All her love would pour out into these varying dishes. She loved us by feeding us.

I thought the one food we'd never get again was her fried chicken - I'm so glad I was wrong. Today, we felt a little of her love.