A story of no consequence
Catching up with the Colonel
I hate liars, and this week I was lied to.
There’s a contractual agreement that we share with fast food outlets.
The agreement is based on consistency. Consistently good bad food. And we take solace in the fact that even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.
That’s the deal, and we all signed up for it.
We rely on this at the best and the worst of times. Seeking refuge in drive-throughs and shiny composite counters as the uniformed workers shuffle fries into bags and wrap burgers in paper, while asking if that’s all for today. It usually is.
When that contract is broken, there are no words. No alternatives or best worst-case scenarios. You’ve simply been robbed.
That brings me to the lies I’ve faced this week as I waited patiently in the drive through of the KFC just outside of Christiansted, St Croix.
After a long morning exploring the island with Maala on an uneventful Saturday, we needed to eat.
Pulling into the drive through I immediately noticed the menu board was sparse. I expected a wide range of options to sift through: chicken sandwiches, wraps, thighs and legs, wings, tenders, fries, mac and mash. All the things.
In Australia, KFC sits atop the fast-food chain. A premium choice with a menu bursting with options and flavorful delights. The chicken sandwiches are succulent and juicy, and some versions are topped with bacon and cheese for when you’re feeling extra filthy. The hot wings are plump, the thighs and legs just the right amount of greasy and spice, and the fries, oh the fries, are to die for—crispy on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside.
I’d argue that KFC is a top three option for fast-food Down Under.
As it turns out, KFC Up Over is a different story.
I have to admit, I don’t hold the Colonel to the same high regard here as I do in Australia. It could be that a country of 300+ million people has bigger problems than cleaning up its fast-food counters, but they don’t have the same shimmer and excitement as they do back home.
At least not to me, anyway. It ‘s like comparing the new employees who start with sparkle in their eye and a spring in their step, ready to dive and zealously tackle new projects, work late and always beam from ear to ear, with the soulless sods who have been at the company for four years too long and barely care enough to hide their discontent at being asked to lean in after a 14th, and always final—“we got it right this time, promise!”—re-org.
This could have something to do with the pittance of a wage casual workers get in the United States compared to other first-world countries, but that’s a thought for another dumpling.
Needless to say, after five and half years of living Stateside, I had yet to patron a local KFC.
Until this particular day.
The issues started with the menu. They ended there, too. There were maybe eight total items at this particular KFC, four of which were part of “bucket” deals, which are not my jam. The bucket always seems like a good idea when you’re hungry or high or both, but then it just ends up being you and the bucket and you have a face veneered with grease and a belly full of regret.
Despondent at the lack of options, I opted for a chicken tender sandwich and five hot wings, both with fries and water. I don’t do soda, it’s too sweet.
I’ll admit that any edible wing is a weak spot for me. I can’t resist them, so I was convinced any shortcomings on the menu board would be made up for with a serving of the Colonel’s classic wings.
Where the KFC hot wings in Australia are seductive in their succulence, here they’re small and limp, and rather disappointing.
The chicken sandwich was plain, featuring two dry tenders and served on buns with stiff edges. It was a tough reality check for someone who expected the moist chicken breast that harkened back to the good old days, when corners were never cut by the fast-food overlords.
I was lied to. Mislead. Deprived of my rightful Colonel experience.
Spirits were deflated, punctured by the loss of trust and the broken contractual agreement. Maala’s first experience with KFC was a dull one. A father’s worst nightmare.
...Okay, maybe not that bad but still, disappointing.
I looked over at her expecting the wrath of a thousand Ramsay’s.
She reached into the paper bag and hungrily clawed out another fistful of fries.
Even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.
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*chef’s kiss*
Allan