A half hour west of Oklahoma City one finds Okarche, a small community known for two things. Eischen’s Bar is the oldest of its kind in the state, dating back to around 1900. The best thing about Eischen’s is the other reason to go to Okarche; fried chicken.

The oldest bar in Oklahoma serves poultry; whole, half, and quarters. The waitress will eye you and tell you how much to order if necessary. I don’t know how they know how much chicken a person can eat. The smoking hot, thick crusted sustenance is served on butcher paper, accompanied by pickles and fried okra. People come from everywhere to sample the chicken and argue about whether it is as billed; the best fried chicken in the world.

If you are of southern heritage or appreciate the finer things in life, like a perfect brown crust and a seasoned cast iron skillet that can fry okra and bake cornbread, you probably have eaten chicken fried fresh in a seasoned flour mixture and have an opinion about which is best.

Folks in Columbia talk about a legendary version of fried chicken from Herb’s, a place that once sat at the corner of St. Andrews and Broad River roads. The remains of Herb’s business, and supposedly his recipe, can still be ordered at Fat Buddies in Chapin. That is where we prefer to dine when we are Jonesing for fried chicken.

Veteran law enforcement types swear that escaped cons would turn up at Herb’s within a day or two of bustin’ out of the joint, making retrieval simple. Seems fried chicken was in the top three of things a fugitive needed to take care of before being re-apprehended.

Although both of these examples are great, I prefer my paternal grandmother’s fried chicken, lovingly hand battered and seasoned, fried in a half inch of either lard or leftover bacon grease. The chicken was usually clucking earlier the day we ate it, and the breast featured Mama Cox’s version of grill marks, a tiny black smudge in the center of the crust where the hot spot of the iron skillet cooked that piece a little bit longer than the others. I was never high enough on the family food chain to get a breast and felt lucky to get a drumstick. What I did eat tasted like Heaven.

Southern fried chicken isn’t a complicated dish and perfection is achievable even for beginners. A bit of attention and some experience, and most anyone can be at least proficient. If the crust breaks off and the chicken is fully cooked but not dry, you too can be a fried chicken star.

In fact, I’m confident what set my grandmother’s chicken apart wasn’t the chicken at all. It was the helium light biscuits and cream gravy you got as accompaniment. If there is a diner in Heaven, I’ll bet Mama Cox’s fried chicken and associated side dishes are the Sunday Special.

Food Nazis and anorexic TV stars can hyperventilate all they want. The rest of us love fried chicken. We’ll exercise more if we get too fat.

Besides, skinny models and food Nazis aren’t going to Heaven anyway.

Editor recommends fried chicken at Bernie’s, Lizard’s Thicket, Compton’s, Little Pigs Barbecue, Bojangle’s, Doc’s BBQ, and Nathan’s.