To: Brent

Would you get a load of this! My first attempt at Chicken Fried Steak wasn't a total bust. Just partial. You are, indeed, looking at the dog bowl, however. And I can say there were several variables that call for improvement in the future. Less oil. Lower heat. But y'all? I don't fry stuff. I grew up with a passionate nutrition enthusiast who is my dad. Reaching for something in the kitchen cabinet would usually be met with, "Did you read the label?"... "Is there a healthier choice?"... "Are you really hungry or just bored?"

And we didn't have coke regularly, Lucky Charms, or Twinkies in the house. So, any food label I should have read, I felt rather secure it had already been heavily scrutinized by my father's content-filtering judgment. He calls hydrogenated oil the "H Bomb". He'll hold up order-taking traffic to have servers ask if the cedar-plank salmon is, in fact, wild or farm-raised. Cheerios, Shredded Wheat, and the rare bag of Famous Amos were highlights of my childhood diet. Honey on those Cheerios felt like I was getting away with something. And I say all of this as a matter of fact. It is something that simply matters a great deal to my dad. I don't necessarily adopt every single tidbit of information as gospel truth; but I give ear to his interest because I believe the driving force behind his passion is the depth of love he has for those he wants to enlighten. Food can play a MAJOR role in the health and wellness of all of us.

So, I admit I have a bit of a bias toward certain foods - particularly fried and heavily processed foods. For example, I simply Will. Not. Eat. Cool-Whip. But that also means I disregarded a birthday favorite from Brent's childhood this entire time until now. Was it lack of know-how or simply snubbing breaded cube-steak fried in a puddle of what I recently found out was typically bacon-drippings saved by his Granny Blanche. Still, if we put things into perspective, Brent's grandmother ate a vast and wide diet of fried foods; and she lived to be 100. Seriously. So, why is Chicken Fried Steak once a year on Brent's birthday that big of a deal? It's not. It just isn't. So, I decided to whip out the very very old, gorgeously seasoned, cast iron skillet his granny used to use and invest in this guy's favorite birthday memory. Besides, he deserves my best. And like I said before - I'll resolve to improve myself, my Chicken Fried Steak, and my best efforts - not just due to another January 1st, but just for being overdue.

Happy Birthday, Brent. I'm glad your tummy could take it. And I'm glad it tasted like what it was supposed to taste like. I tried "wicked hawd".