The Chicken Sisters
Page 1
Also by KJ Dell’Antonia
How to Be a Happier Parent
Reading with Babies, Toddlers & Twos
(with Susan Straub)
G. P. Putnam’s Sons
Publishers Since 1838
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2020 by KJ Dell’Antonia
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Dell’Antonia, K. J., author.
Title: The chicken sisters / KJ Dell’Antonia.
Description: New York : G.P. Putnam’s Sons, [2020]
Identifiers: LCCN 2019040077 | ISBN 9780593085141 (paperback) | ISBN 9780593085158 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Family-owned business enterprises—Fiction. |
Restaurants—Fiction. | Reality television programs—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3604.E444637 C48 2020 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019040077
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To my grandparents, who took me to Chicken Annie’s.
To my parents, who once boldly took me to Chicken Mary’s.
And to Rob, Sam, Lily, Rory, and Wyatt, all of whom understand the importance of good fried chicken—and enjoying it together.
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CONTENTS
Cover
Also by KJ Dell’Antonia
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Mae
Amanda
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The hit TFC series Food Wars is back! And this time, it’s personal. We’re looking for rival restaurants with a deeper connection—married chefs, best friends with dueling taco trucks. If you’re a restaurant owner or worker who shares a bond with the crew at a competing restaurant in your town, we want to hear from you.
It’s a fantastic opportunity to showcase your food on TV, expose your brand to a national audience, and finally resolve, once and for all, who’s the best at serving up your local specialty. Food Wars judges will vote on who provides the best dining experience, the best menu, and, of course, the most delicious, most authentic version of whatever it is you do, and it will all be shared live via social media and then on produced episodes of our show. The winner will be awarded $100,000 to invest in their business. Past victors have franchised and been offered lucrative product-branding opportunities.
To be considered for the show, both restaurants must be willing and enthusiastic about participating and must be available for up to five possibly nonconsecutive days of filming. Applicants should e-mail no more than 300 words describing the rivalry and relationship between your competing restaurants, along with some images that capture the scene. We need to locate our next competitors RIGHT AWAY, so drop us a line ASAP! Sabrinasky@thefoodchannel.com
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×
[DRAFT]
To: Sabrinasky@thefoodchannel.com
From: Amanda.Pogociello@gmail.com
Subject: The Chicken Sisters (application for Food Wars)
In 1883, my great-great-great-grandmother Margaret (Mimi) and her sister, Frances (Frannie), answered an ad placed by Fred Harvey for “young women, 18–30 years of age, of good character, attractive and intelligent” to come west for a grand adventure—working in his “Harvey restaurants” along the railroad line. They lived in a dorm and wore a uniform. Harvey took good care of his girls, or at least, he kept them on a short leash, and my grandma Mimi resented it. She met a man who worked on the railroad, packed up Frannie, and followed him to Merinac, Kansas. They had a house right by the depot, so Mimi opened her own railroad restaurant, selling fried chicken, potatoes, and biscuits with Frannie. Before long they were making more money with chicken than Harvey was, and he didn’t like it, but then he was crushed between two train cars and it didn’t matter anymore. Meanwhile, Frannie and Mimi had a big fight; then Frannie got married and started her own place out by the mines. Thus, Chicken Mimi’s and Chicken Frannie’s were born, and so was their rivalry.
Mimi’s daughter was also Mimi, and she ran Mimi’s, followed by my great-grandmother, my grandmother, and now my mother. Frances preferred boys; she passed Frannie’s down to her son Frank and then his son Frank and then his son Frank, and I married his son Frank. That would be Frank the 4th. And I know what you’re thinking, but we share .0391 percent of our DNA or something and it’s not gross, so quit it.
* * *
×
[DRAFT]
To: Sabrinasky@thefoodchannel.com
From: Amanda.Pogociello@gmail.com
Subject: The Chicken Sisters (application for Food Wars)
Chicken Mimi’s fried chicken is pan-fried and people love it. Chicken Frannie’s fried chicken is deep-fat-fried and people love it too. I am probably the only person in the world who knows how both are made, but I never make either. I hate chicken. I mean, I like chickens, but I don’t like to eat them. I’ve been a vegetarian since I was 6. I grew up working the counter for my mother, who ran Mimi’s, which was started by my great-great-great-grandmother. Now I hostess for my mother-in-law at Frannie’s, which was started by my husband’s great-great-grandmother. My dead husband. There should be a word for that, like ex-husband, that would be easier.
* * *
×
[DRAFT]
To: Sabrinasky@thefoodchannel.com
From: Amanda.Pogociello@gmail.com
Subject: The Chicken Sisters (application for Food Wars)
My name is Amanda Pogociello. I am a hostess at Chicken Frannie’s, just outside Merinac, Kansas. Our rival, Chicken Mimi’s, is right on Main Street. The restaurants were started by two sisters who hated each other in the late 1800s, one mostly for people on trains passing through and the other mostly for the men who worked in the coal mines. For over a hundred years families around here have been choosing one or the other. Loyalty gets passed down in families, even. Only newcomers eat at both, although not very many people actually sit down and eat at Mimi’s anymore. They just get their chicken and go home.
The sisters’ feud lasted until their deaths, and it’s still going. Nobody from Frannie’s is allowed into Mimi’s, and vice versa. Chicken Mimi’s thinks Chicken Frannie’s is pretentious and stuffy, because we have a fancy bar and a large menu of more than jus
t fried chicken, and in the ’80s we served quiche. Mimi’s serves chicken, biscuits, fried potatoes, iceberg lettuce salad, and pie. That’s it. It’s not even a real restaurant. It’s a chicken shack with tables. At Frannie’s we think that’s ridiculous. We think Mimi’s needs to grow up and take things seriously, and definitely clean itself up. Mimi’s thinks Frannie’s could just let people seat themselves and relax.
* * *
×
[DRAFT]
To: Sabrinasky@thefoodchannel.com
From: Amanda.Pogociello@gmail.com
Subject: The Chicken Sisters (application for Food Wars)
Please pick us. We’re dying out here.
* * *
×
[DRAFT]
To: Sabrinasky@thefoodchannel.com
From: Amanda.Pogociello@gmail.com
Subject: The Chicken Sisters (application for Food Wars)
Chicken Mimi’s vs. Chicken Frannie’s would be the best Food Wars ever. They’re less than 3 miles apart, they both specialize in fried chicken, they were started by sisters who never spoke to each other again, and now they are run by my mother and my mother-in-law. My mother doesn’t speak to my mother-in-law, either.
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×
[SENT]
To: Sabrinasky@thefoodchannel.com
From: Amanda.Pogociello@gmail.com
Subject: The Chicken Sisters (application for Food Wars)
Chicken Mimi’s vs. Chicken Frannie’s would be the best Food Wars ever. They’re less than 3 miles apart, they both specialize in fried chicken, they were started by sisters who never spoke to each other again, and now they are run by my mother and my mother-in-law. They are both super-excited to be on Food Wars. We all love the show and we have seen every episode.
I work at Frannie’s but I know everyone at Mimi’s too. People in town always argue about which chicken is best. It’s a good way to start a conversation, by asking which you like. The restaurants are very different, Mimi’s is pretty simple and BYOB while Frannie’s has a bar. Some people go to Mimi’s because they really love the pie but it’s better to go to Frannie’s if you have someone in your family who is a picky eater or vegetarian because they will be able to find something that isn’t chicken. Chicken Frannie’s has fried mozzarella and cheesecake.
We are pretty close to Kansas City, so it isn’t too hard to get here. They say people used to come up just to try the different chicken, back when this area was booming. Everybody wants to do this and we really hope you pick us.
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×
[REPLY]
To: Amanda.Pogociello@gmail.com
From: Sabrinasky@thefoodchannel.com
Subject: Re: The Chicken Sisters (application for Food Wars)
Dear Amanda,
The Chicken Sisters sound intriguing. We are wrapping up Rib Wars in Kansas City and would like to come meet you. If everything’s as you say, we’ll start filming immediately. How’s Wednesday at 2?
Sabrina Skelly, Host, Producer, Food Wars
The Food Channel
AMANDA
It was one thing to put a message in a bottle and another thing entirely when that bottle came back to you from across the sea with a genie stuffed in next to the reply. She had to rub the bottle now, right? She’d cast the spell, wished the wish, and asked in prayer, and she had received. It would be different if she didn’t believe. It wouldn’t have worked if she didn’t believe. But of course, she did believe. She believed with all her heart and soul that Food Wars had the power to change everything, and she was right.
Later, she wished she’d been a little more specific.
It had been fun, sending the e-mail. And honestly, she figured the result would be a few weeks of dreaming, of imagining how Food Wars could make everything better, followed by a letdown when they said no or just never replied. It was a lottery ticket, minus the dollar she couldn’t afford to spend.
Now she was sitting in her car outside Walmart, idly scrolling, a new habit born of an unreasonable expectation that somewhere in her phone was something that would change her mood, when the reply appeared, a response beyond her wildest dreams that sent an actual, literal chill through her body. She turned her car back on, abandoning her planned shopping trip, and backed out of the parking spot she’d just pulled into, narrowly missing a beat-up Camry. Her foot shook on the gas pedal. Her whole leg was quivering. This is it, she thought. From now on, everything will be different. Different, and better.
Better. She kept repeating that to herself, and that conviction, really this is going to make things better, helped her squash down any doubts about her mother or about Frannie’s or about what the hell Merinac was going to make of Food Wars and vice versa. It carried her past the two miles of corn and soybean fields between Walmart and Nancy’s house and right through her mother-in-law’s back door, bellowing her name. She stopped short when she saw Nancy, already in the kitchen and looking worried at Amanda’s wild entrance.
“No, no, it’s good, it’s something good. Food Wars, you know, the show with the restaurants that compete—they want to come here! To do us, us and Mimi’s. Food Wars!” She waited for Nancy’s response, biting her lip, fists clutched, a euphoric and probably goofy smile on her face. Because, Food Wars. Here!
Nancy smiled back, but it was a confused smile, a little dubious. She did not look thrilled. Why did she not look thrilled? Amanda did not need doubts right now; she needed enthusiasm. She grabbed the older woman’s hands and squeezed them tightly. “They’re going to come here. And film us, and we will win a hundred thousand dollars, and everyone will know who we are and want to eat here, and Frannie’s will be famous.” She let go of Nancy’s hands and let her feet do the little dance they wanted so much to do, waving her arms in the air and shaking her hips. “Here, they’re coming here, they’re really coming here! And we will be huge.” She grinned. “Huge!”
Once, long ago, that had been the plan for Frannie’s. Back then, the town had been bigger and the world felt smaller, and Daddy Frank—great-grandson of the original Frannie, and father to Amanda’s husband, Frank—was a leading figure in Merinac’s business scene, a restaurant owner and real estate magnate with big ideas. A Banquet chicken dinner in someone’s freezer or the sight of a Tippin’s potpie at Albertsons would send him into a lengthy monologue about his dream of sharing Frannie’s with the entire country, or at least the shoppers at major midwestern grocery stores. They all dreamed big along with him, back when the Franks had been in charge of the business plan, Nancy a capable and steady first mate, and Amanda a mother first, a student second, and a Frannie’s fill-in hostess and waitress only a distant third.
Now, six years after the car crash that killed both Franks and left Nancy and Amanda in charge, the restaurant did little more than break even. Every day brought more bills and more tax forms and, for Amanda at least, a giant, soul-sucking fear that the future held nothing but more of the same. She often thought that Frannie’s could spiral around the drain and finally get pulled under and no one would even notice that she and Nancy had gone with it.
But Food Wars would change all that.
Amanda looked down at her mother-in-law’s tiny, tense frame, at the burgundy hair that was due for a color, thinning, just a little, in a way that was hard to disguise. Please don’t let her start in on the risks and the worries and the things that could go wrong. Please let her see how much she needs this, how much we all need this.
Suddenly Nancy rushed forward and hugged Amanda, hard. “Food Wars? Us? Frannie’s? You did this? You got them to come here?”
One more wish, granted.
“I did. I did!” Amanda squeezed her mother-in-law back, dancing them both back and forth before they let go. “I wrote them, and they’re coming. They loved what I told them about the chicken sisters, and the history and
everything.”
“We’ll be on TV.” Nancy grabbed a chair from around her kitchen table and sat down on it, hard. “TV. Like Mae—TV. Frannie’s.”
Mae. Oh hell. But even the thought of her sister wasn’t enough to suck the glory out of this moment. “Television, yes, and they do a lot of live bits on the Internet. Social media.” Amanda loved those. She followed all of TFC’s social media accounts, but Food Wars was her favorite. Nancy, though, looked at her blankly. “Like, they record a little bit, and people can watch it on their phones or computers if they follow the show. It usually takes a while for the episodes to get on television, but they do a whole bunch of live stuff while they’re recording, to get people excited about it. It’s sort of a cross between a web show and a regular show.”
Nancy brushed that aside, as though Amanda had said Food Wars would also be available for pandas to watch from the zoo, and rushed on. “Television! Do you have any idea what this could mean?”
Amanda, who thought she did, laughed, and Nancy got out of her chair and grabbed Amanda and hugged her again, then stood back, still clutching Amanda’s shoulders. “We have to win,” Nancy said. “I mean, of course we’ll win. There’s not even a comparison.” Nancy paused, and her voice, which had been getting increasingly higher, dropped. “In fact . . .”
Amanda knew where she was headed, and this, unlike the mention of Mae, did suck a little air out of her bubble. Mimi’s and Frannie’s both served fried chicken, yes. And they had the same kind of name. And they had been started by sisters. But from there, the similarities—and any competition—ended. Frannie’s was open all day, with an extensive menu. Mimi’s offered only dinner: chicken, biscuits, French fries, and salad, and off-the-menu doughnuts on Saturday mornings for those in the know. And of course pie, but only when the spirit moved her mother to bake. It wasn’t a real restaurant so much as an erratic takeout joint, supported by loyal customers willing to overlook the way the place had run down over the years.