Chicken

Yeah I said it: I like Chicken, fried chicken that is.

Today at Black Plaza, which was sort of weak because it was on a Monday and not heavily publicized, Stanford called out all its black organizations. Even with the lower turn out than before, we still took over White Plaza. Yeah, we brought Sexy Black to White Plaza. There was music, the Greeks stepped, and they gave out free Popeye’s Fried Chicken.

Yeah I know that some of our people have a hang up because of the damn stereotypes about black folks lovin’ chicken. Sure we were reinforcing that generalization. But sh*t, should I hid in the dark for fear that my affinity for poultry affirms the mainstream opinion? I used to hear the jokes. I’ve seen the racist caricatures. But I’m like this, who the hell doesn’t like chicken? Sure, there are people who have complete disdain for fried chicken. Some of it coming from reactions to those racist imagery. Some say it is greasy. Many say it is unhealthy. I don’t eat it everyday. But when I do make it, it is slammin. And when my mother or brother cooks it, it is screamin. Last year, my mom packed me some fried chicken to eat on the plane because they weren’t serving any food. I had two rows jealous of me when I opened it up because it smelled so good. I’m sure a few of the folks on the plane shook their head. “See, I told you honey, black people love their fried chicken. That black girl in the back row is eating some right now.”

Yeah like I said, I like fried chicken. I also like baked chicken, sauteed chicken, chicken strips, chicken kabobs, chicken stew, curry chicken, chicken with gravy, BBQ chicken, smoked chicken, chicken a-la-king, chicken royale, chicken pallau (West Indian peoples holla–My momma calls it Pele like the soccer star), and chicken sandwiches. I especially like free range chicken, organic chicken, and on top of that halal chicken. As one of the volunteers at Black Plaza, although I really didn’t have to do much, I was able to get some extra boxes. So me and my roommate pick up three boxes each. That’s money baby. That’s a snack tonight, lunch tomorrow, dinner another day. Yeah, two black girls walking into Stanford’s psychology department with a gang of fried chicken.

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