More often than not, I have vivid dreams that transport me back to my childhood.

One night, I’m 2 years old playing in the soft, cool dunes at White Sands National Park, New Mexico, then a few nights later I’m playing “move your feet, lose your seat” at my grandparents’ tiny house on Wilbur Avenue in Youngstown on a holiday. Holidays were a different type of machine growing up.

I was lucky, blessed, to have a bazillion grandparents: maternal grandparents, two maternal great-grandmas and great grandpa, and my paternal grandma and great-grandma.

Holidays would start off at home, opening presents or getting ready, then usually traveling all around Youngstown, largely the south side, to all the grandparents.

I remember for some kind of gathering, dad’s mom had this massive cast iron skillet and there was this sizzling sound popping from it on the stove top.

The smell was a little stronger than I cared for because I don’t like the smell of fried foods, but I was already a goner.

A few minutes later, I dove into a piece of my grandma’s fried chicken.

For a few years, I called it “bead chicken” because the skin was akin to tiny seedbeads in my childlike mind.

Grandma’s secret was using Crisco before they changed the recipe some years back — well before the 2007 switch up.

I haven’t had fried chicken that holds up to Grandma’s.

These days I don’t eat much of anything fried except chicken tenders when I’m out at a bar — establishment — and french fries, which I’m a sucker for.

When I was 7, a teacher put the fear of all things unhealthy in me when she talked about how bad fried chicken skin is. Was she right? Yes. Do I still love some good, crispy fried chicken? Also, yes.

Alas, it sort of stuck that I don’t go near too much fried anything. Although one of my pandemic purchases was an air fryer, which let me tell you was one of the best adult decisions I ever made.

Now I can make the perfect french fry, jojo (my favorite) or onion ring, or even reheat a lot of food without it becoming soggy or having to turn on the oven for one small thing.

Since I can’t seem to get Grandma’s fried chicken recipe down, I’ve opted for a nice buttermilk variety.

I favor chicken breast (although I love a good wing), and I like to pound the chicken out a little. Whether that’s a good practice for this recipe, I’m not sure.

As always with most other things I write about in this space, you can add whatever kinds of seasonings you want to the flour to make the recipe your own.

When you do, let me know. I’ll bring a boxed Cabernet Sauvignon.

Fried Chicken

Ingredients

About 1 pound of chicken, cut to the size of your liking if boneless

1 cup buttermilk

2 cups flour

Seasonings of your choice

At least 2 quarts of frying oil (I like peanut oil when I have it)

Directions

Put the buttermilk into a mixing bowl.

Add chicken to the buttermilk bowl, letting it sit for about 12 hours. It can be longer.

The next day, put the flour and seasonings into a large freezer bag.

Add some of the chicken to the bag and give it a good shake.

Take the chicken out of the bag and let it set for at least a few minutes. You want there to be a thick coating on each piece.

While the chicken is setting, heat up some of the oil in a frying pan.

Put a few pieces in at a time once the oil is hot. Don’t overcrowd.

Cook until the chicken is done at 165 degrees Fahrenheit.

Let the chicken rest and slightly cool before serving.

Share your favorite recipes and memories with Features Editor Ashley Fox at afox@tribtoday.com.