Monday, April 26, 2010

KFC's Double Down of Shame


For weeks, I have been seeing those commercials for the KFC Double Down. I decided that today, had to have one for lunch. Call it morbid curiosity.

"Get the grilled version," Larry told me. "Less carbs."

The fact that I had to look up the nearest KFC to my office alleviated some of the guilt in my mind.

I walked over, feeling uncomfortable the whole way. "Why am I doing this?" I asked myself. It was as though I was going to buy drugs. The guilt was palpable.

I walked into the KFC/Pizza Hut/Tim Horton's and stood at a distance from the counter. I scanned the menu, hoping to see the words "unavailable at this location."

"Can I help you?" asked the woman behind the counter.

I approached slowly, mentally screaming for the customers who had already paid for their food to leave. There had to be no witnesses.

"Can I have a grilled chicken..." I started, before turning my head slightly away from the customer standing next to me and mumbling "double down?"

Clearly I was shamed beyond belief. Like that Golden Girls episode where they pick up condoms at the drug store.

"Do you want combo?"
"No."

At least I had showed some restraint.

As if I didn't feel self conscious enough, the cashier had to yell to the other cashier, "Do we have grilled chicken double down?"

Son of a bitch.

I prayed that the answer would be no. I would simply leave and go get a salad and pretend this never happened.

But they did. It was seven dollars. Do you know what else is seven dollars? The salad I buy every single day. Another sign that this was a mistake. I stood there waiting. I hoped it would come in a box so that no one would see.

Luckily, a box emerged and was shoved into a paper bag.

Feeling like a pervert who just bought a porno magazine (complete with trench coat), I looked around for a seat. All the tables were taken over by tourists.

There was no way I was going to bring this back to the office and endure further humiliation, so I crept down the black rubber stairs to the basement seating area and found a seat in the corner.

I sat down and opened the bag, sliding the box out and looking around to make sure that no one was watching me. I popped open the box to find it wrapped in white paper.

Here is the fun part. There is no way of knowing which end is which. In order to eat it without touching it, you need to unwrap it, and then re wrap it so that it sticks out of the paper.

This will never, ever catch on. Americans are too lazy to do this. You end up with grease on your hands. The two pieces of convex chicken repel each other like magnets, sliding in opposite directions. It's easy to imagine squeezing it too hard, only to have the bacon and cheese in the center fall out or shoot you in the face.

It was at this time that I realized I had no napkins. This meant wiping my hands on the paper bag. By now, I was immune to the humiliation aspect.

How did it taste? Boring and flavorless. The cheese wasn't melted the way it is in the commercial, and they used that crappy "cheese food" you avoid in the supermarket. The bacon was tough and the chicken was dry. There really is no point to this lame marketing gimmick of a sandwich.

Save your money - and your self respect.

I can't wait to have my regularly scheduled salad tomorrow.

2 comments:

Christopher said...

I may or may not have tried this too...and it may or may not have been the grilled version. Oh, the guilt that followed.

Jim said...

Your idea of "food porn" is vastly different than my idea of food porn (think a patisserie in Paris). But I love that you did this so I don't have to.

As for Christopher, I know where you live. I know you did this. I'm telling!