Do not pity the chicken. Sure, at first glance, its life may seem somewhat bleak. To be raised in captivity with the sole intent of being turned into a nugget may not strike one as a desirable existence. But rest assured, some chickens will go on to fulfill a greater fate. The lucky ones get sent over to the Mason Jar Café in Fort Lauderdale. It is there that they are elevated from simple cutlet to an orgasm-inducing fried piece of tongue candy. Every fried chicken that leaves the Mason Jar's kitchen has been given no less than 30 minutes of intimate compliments. After all, each is rubbed with a seasoned batter that is rumored to come from Julia Child's secret time capsule. Then every one is fried to crunchy perfection and smothered in a gravy so creamy and delicious that it must be kept in a box labeled "booger juice" to prevent sneaky busboys from stealing a taste. Any nincompoop can just drop a breast into a deep fryer and come back in five minutes. But it takes skill — nay, love — to make the best fried chicken.