Yesterday on my way in to classes I stopped by KFC. Now let me preface this by saying under normal circumstances I love Kentucky Fried Chicken. I mean, I am a proud Kentuckian who has eaten at both the Sanders Cafe and the Claudia Sanders Dinner House, for one. For two, this is the food that has shown up at almost every major family function and after funeral dinners since the beginning of my existence. Three, even Anthony Bourdain admits that their mac and cheese is pretty freakin’ delicious.
So you get it, I’m guilty of being a fan. Like on a very limited, once in a while treat sort of way…I swear. (Very early heart disease does run rampant in my family you know.)
So I caved into the pressure and the hype of the Double Down and ordered it. I believe my exact words were when I called my mother, “the internet made me do it.”
Oh. My. God. This was singlehandedly the grossest thing I’ve ever eaten. It was dripping in oil, as though they pulled it from the fryer and immediately stuck it in box without so much as a drain and gave it to me. After I sopped it up with a napkin I ate maybe 2 bites before deciding this was $7 of wasteful spending and I was still going to be hungry because in no way was I finishing it.
Maybe mine was just poorly prepared, maybe it’s because I really, really, really enjoy bread and couldn’t get over the idea of chicken filets acting like carb substitutes. I keep thinking KFC could have made a killing on them during the height of the Atkin’s Diet craze.
Bottom line, for me this was a serious no go. I’ll stick to my extra crispy or grilled pieces and a helping of that nuclear orange shit if I’m so inclined to indulge in the colonel’s secret recipe again.