Lord Percival's Chicken

Lord Percival was Eugenia Starnes’ elderly Maine Coon cat whose health declined upon the death of his lifelong companion Lady Gwendolyn, a calico mix. Percy was not eating and anyone could see his days were numbered. Eugenia bought all his favorite foods but he ignored them all after a cursory sniff and lick. When things were looking their bleakest, she decided that before putting him down, she would do her best to make him something he couldn’t resist. She thawed some boneless chicken thighs, then bustled around assembling other ingredients which she combined with the meat in a baking pan and put the whole thing into the oven for an hour. When it was browned and bubbling, she took it out to cool on the counter while she left to run some errands.

When Eugenia returned ninety minutes later, she was perplexed to find half of her chicken concoction gone. She chuckled softly to herself, then fixed a dish for the bereaved feline and put it down next to his water before calling “Percy! Where’s Percy-Wercy? Mommy’s got tasties for you.”

Lord Percival stirred from his nap on the recliner in the den and opened one skeptical eye. His walnut brain was processing that while he missed Lady Gwendolyn, he didn’t miss fighting for the recliner or the single shaft of sunlight in the sewing room, and maybe he should eat something. He jumped down and sashayed slowly into the kitchen where he paused, nose twitching. What was that aroma emanating from his bowl? He approached it slowly, almost reverently. He took an exploratory bite and then another and another. Suddenly he was wolfing and gulping down the food and compulsively licking the bowl where it had once been.

He likes it! Eugenia thought. Percy looked like he had decided to remain among the living. That was a good thing, but she wondered if she had created a monster. She had never seen such a reception to any food. But, near starvation would account for some of the enthusiasm.

“My God, Eugenia, you aren’t feeding the cat your casserole are you? That is probably the best thing you ever made. I’ve already had two bowls and I’m back for more. I want you to make that every week. Heck, make it every day.”

Tom Starnes was standing in the doorway holding an empty bowl and waving a fork as he talked. Eugenia considered telling him that far from her feeding the cat his food, he had embezzled his serving from the cat. She gave it five seconds of rumination before deciding no good could come of that discussion. Instead she said “You like it? It’s just something I threw together and I dropped a spoonful on the floor and Percy ate it right up. He’s been so sad lately, I thought I would give him some.”

“Yeah, well I’ve never had anything like this. It’s got something that amps up the chicken taste. And it’s crunchy and creamy. I sound like an ad, but whatever you’re doing, don’t stop. Just one more spoonful,” Tom delivered another dollop into his dish and then disappeared back into the garage.

So it began. Soon, by popular demand Lord Percival’s Chicken appeared at potlucks, buffets, wedding and baby showers - any communal event involving food served as an excuse for Eugenia to make her famous casserole. Naturally, everyone wanted the recipe, but no matter how impassioned the entreaty, Eugenia would never share it. “Maybe after I die,” she’d say. “In the meantime, it’s my dish and it will stay my dish.”

That’s how things would have remained, if it had not been for her seeing the announcement about the Clucksy Chicken Northeastern Cook-off. 1st Prize was $20,000 plus qualifying for the National Cook-off with a top award of $100,000 and the winning entry earning a place on the Clucksy Chicken menu at every franchise in the country.

**********

To no one's surprise, in the second week of April inside the Food World tent at the State Fairgrounds, Eugenia Starnes won the regional Clucksy Chicken Cook-off. Eugenia and the other finalist (Tropical Hawaiian Chicken and Spam Kabobs) were holding hands waiting for the announcement, when the head judge stood and adjusted his microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I must say that in all my time judging cooking contests, there has never been a clearer winner, right from the first bite. The victor today is Eugenia Starnes for her undeniably original Lord Percival’s Chicken!” The judge turned and spoke to Eugenia directly. “ I know the dish is named after your pet, but our suggestion is that you rename it Umami Chicken, because of that indefinable scrumptious undercurrent that plays on the tongue throughout eating. If ever a recipe could be said to be addictive, this would be that recipe.”

Five minutes later, Eugenia had a crown of chicken feathers on her head and was photographed holding an enormous cardboard check made out for $20,000 in her name. The ruckus started immediately after the photo session when she refused to turn over a copy of her recipe to the Clucksy Chicken representatives.

“But you have to!” they exclaimed. “You’ll be disqualified and be denied the prize. It’s all in the rules.”

“I read the rules,” replied Eugenia. “IF I go to the Finals and take first place, then I have to turn over the recipe and give all rights to Clucksy Chicken. But I don’t have to do a darn thing after this contest except cash my check and take my crown and go home, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Six months later, despite numerous certified letters from a cadre of corporate attorneys, it turned out just as Eugenia and her attorney brother-in-law Fred Starnes maintained - the Regional Cook-off money was hers and she was under no legal obligation to participate in any further cooking events.

“As though I would, after that treatment,” Eugenia exclaimed to Tom. She bent to pet Lord Percival II, the small Maine Coon kitten twining around her legs. She hated to admit it, but it had been an actual relief when Percy The Elder finally succumbed to old age and obesity; she was exhausted from churning out pan after pan of casserole to satisfy both his and her husband’s insatiable demands. The chicken melange would never touch Percy II’s velvety tongue and enslave him like his forebear.

Initially, Tom thought she was crazy to give up an opportunity for an additional $100,000 in prize money, but Eugenia finally won him over to her way of seeing things.

“Peanuts,” she said. “Why give away a gold mine for $100,000? Tom, we need to open our own restaurant and sell my dish ourselves. We would make more than winning the finals - I know it. The old Just Waffles in town is still for lease and we can get it with all the equipment for close to nothing from the receiver. We’ll use the prize money we have and call it Lord Percival’s Kitchen and fund our golden years. Everyone around here already knows about my chicken anyway, they’ll be standing in line the day we open.”

Tom knew further debate was useless when Eugenia had a certain tilt to her chin and gleam in her eye which he labeled her Sunset Boulevard look. He sighed, “Okay, we’ll give it a shot.”

**********

As Eugenia predicted, Lord Percival’s Kitchen had lines out the door every day. There were only two items on the menu - the original Lord Percy’s Chicken as well as a new entree called Lady Gwendolyn’s Meatloaf, both accompanied with string beans, mashed potatoes and cornbread. No substitutions. Lady Gwendolyn’s meatloaf shared the same unique umami undercurrent as the famous chicken dish and turned out to be equally addictive. In addition to the restaurant, there was a catering fleet of what were known around town as Percy vans, delivering containers of chicken and meatloaf to corporate picnics, wedding banquets, graduation parties, and fundraising events.

The money that Eugenia and Tom made from Lord Percival’s paid for a feral cat rescue next to their own house as well as a fishing retreat for Tom. The Starnes Foundation also built The Lord Percival wing of the local hospital, devoted to childhood cancer treatment and research. Eugenia often reflected that it was hard to believe the spiral of events that occurred simply because of the love she had for one old lonely cat missing his mate.

Eugenia never revealed the particulars of her famous culinary masterpieces. Everyone knew that they both contained her secret flavor mix, prepared by herself in complete solitude and which she delivered personally to the kitchen staff of the restaurant. Despite the earnest efforts of competitors, it remained like the pizza box aphorism, often imitated but never duplicated.

**********

Moxie sat in her father’s old law office with his partner Lloyd Boat. She was the remaining Starnes and she was about to hear the terms of her aunt’s Eugenia’s will.

“Give it to me straight, Lloyd,” she said. “She’s left it all to cat rescue and Percy III, right?” She smiled to show she was joking, although she wasn’t sure that she was when it came down to it.

“Well, she did leave some funds to various animal organizations, but the house, the feral cat shelter and the restaurant all go to you. You can do anything you want - keep all or part, run them, sell them, whatever.” Lloyd handed her a copy of the will, which seemed remarkably thin considering the size of Eugenia’s estate.

Moxie walked to the window and looked out over the town square. The universe rewarded her with one of those beautiful vignettes of everyday life captured spontaneously without design or forethought; she could see a Percy van turning into the funeral home, doubtless supplying the basement reception after a wake, while up the street another van was turning into the high school, and around the corner another one was just leaving the VFW hall. Moxie observed how her aunt’s food was a component in the convergences of life and death and their commemorative events in one small city. Whether one was happy or sad, she realized, nothing marked the occasion more than a comforting or celebratory portion from Lord Percival’s Kitchen. How could she ever let a legacy like that die? But how could she continue to run it without one critical piece of information?

Moxie turned from the window and said “Lloyd, the cat shelter runs with volunteers so it stays open - no-brainer. The restaurant is a landmark and we all know how important it is, but where’s the recipe? There is no Lord Percival’s Chicken without a damned recipe!”

“Well, there’s this,” said Lloyd. “It’s the key to your aunt’s safe deposit box at the Elmwood Guarantee and Trust. She said you would find all you needed to know there.”

**********

There was only one item in the box- a small black leather notebook with her name embossed in gold on the front. She opened it to the first page.

Dear Moxie, as you are reading this, I presume I’m dead. The recipe is on the last page of this notebook. You will now understand why I didn’t go to the National Cook-off and why only I made the flavor blend. Running the cat rescue next to the house is the only way to get enough secret ingredient without drawing suspicion - just pop over when no one's there and take a few packages back to the house to make the mix. Love you honey.

Aunt Eugenia

Moxie turned to the last page of the black notebook and began reading

LORD PERCIVAL’S CHICKEN

Brush 2 lbs of boneless chicken thighs with melted butter. Roll the pieces in a 1 to 1 mix of crushed Rice Krispies and crushed Zula’s Mixed Grill Cat Treats (no substitutes!) moistened with 1 tbsp . . .