"Accompanied by the sort of cheesy easy-listening synth that might be the soundtrack to a terrible yet surreal dining experience, Parton snuggles down on the floor in the corner of a room with many tubs and packs of chicken and potato and gravy and a desk lamp. Using her material like it were clay she carefully, lovingly piles chicken into a sculpted mound, employing potato and gravy as glue (dabbing at it on a plastic tub top as if this were her painter’s palette)."