Brooke looked a bit doubtfully at the bird in front of them. It seemed silly that they'd worked that hard just to get some fried chicken. Sure, it smelled good, and looked great, but . . . it was just fried chicken!<br/><br/>She was glad they'd done well, but this seemed a poor reward for all the hard work they'd managed to do. Picking up one of the pieces of golden-brown, crispy bird, she smiled. The skin was crisp and smelled of herbs, salt, and delicious breading. Even though it was a bit grudging, she looked up at Amanda. "I should say thank you for cooking this, even if we did have to earn the right."<br/><br/>Then she took a bite. The crunch . . . perfect. The somehow-still-warm juice that flooded her mouth . . . perfect.<br/><br/>This might be the most perfect fried chicken she'd ever had, blowing the socks off her grandmother's, which had been the winner before that. She could never tell Nana.<br/><br/>Chewing, Brooke let out an involuntary "Mmmmm," which was swallowed by Sato's cry of surprise. How had they gotten this flavor? It was in every part of the chicken, making each bite a sensory explosion of taste. "Oma gah," she managed between bites, "'ish so good!"