Our story
A small kitchen with a long memory.
The Salty Hen started the way most good things do — at a kitchen table, with a recipe card in somebody's grandmother's handwriting and an argument about how much butter is too much butter. (The answer, of course, is that there is no such thing.)
We cook the food we grew up on: skillet cornbread, slow beans, fried chicken with a salt-and-pepper crust that crackles. We pour real sweet tea. We don't rush the pie. And while you wait, you're welcome to wander into the general store next door — same building, same family — and pick up a jar of preserves, a bar of goat-milk soap, or a sack of stone-ground grits to take home.