Cinnamon Queen

In a little town where the river hums the blues and the air is thick with the scent of magnolias, folks still tell the tale of a hen with more charm than a box of Lucky Charms. They called her the Cinnamon Queen, and honey, she didn’t just walk, she strutted.

With plumage like golden sugar, a comb colored just right, she clucked to a rhythm so smooth even Elvis would bow down. Rumor has it, The King himself once claim she left a trail of warm cinnamon and butter wherever she fluffed her feathers. The Cinnamon Queen neither confirms nor denies this.

Nobody knew exactly where she came from or where she went when the sun dipped low, but one thing is certain: when you taste the rolls made in her honor, you’ll swear you hear the strum of a guitar and feel the warmth of Southern hospitality wrap around you like an old friend.