He declared Jackson’s “the finest fried chicken shack in the known universe” and called its famous fried yardbird “God’s own fried chicken.”

This week’s nicely packaged menu features smoked catfish with rye crackers, yardbird chicken with captain sauce, and devil’s food cake.

Smith writes about yardbird intellects, refugees from good taste and urban ease; her characters are shabby-genteel with the gentility knob turned down pretty low.

“There is no name for this thing that you’ve become,” he writes: “Convict, prisoner, inmate, lifer, yardbird, all fail.”

But there is always that one child, who down deep is an unwavering, totally committed yardbird enthusiast.