|
|
| Tuesday, February 8, 2011 12:21 PM |
| Double Your Down |
 by Fëanor |
Friends and repeat readers of the blog will know I am a fan of disgusting, over-the-top fast food. These same people will not, therefore, be surprised that I have now consumed KFC's Double Down sandwich; perhaps the only thing that will surprise them is that it took me this long. After I ate The Baconator, I wrote about my experience in these pages, so I thought it only fair I record my feelings about KFC's equally disgusting/astounding/wonderful sandwich.
But can it be called a sandwich at all? The Double Down, as you surely know by now, is an entree where the traditional bun has been replaced by two pieces of boneless fried chicken. Between these you will find bacon, two slices of cheese, and a healthy dollop of something described vaguely and ominously as "Colonel's Sauce."
When I first heard about the Double Down, I was taken aback. I thought perhaps it was imaginary - a parody of ridiculous fast food creations. Certainly no one would really sell such a thing. Once convinced of its reality, I still wasn't sure I wanted to try it. I thought perhaps we had crossed the line, then drawn a line beyond that line, and then crossed that, as well.
But pretty soon I'd accepted the inevitable fact that I would eat it, and began to look for the right time. It never came, until last night. The closest KFC to us closed down a while ago for reasons we never discovered (and which frankly I'd rather not know, considering the likely possibilities), but we suddenly experienced that strange, rare, insatiable craving for KFC that comes upon us once a year or so, and it would not be denied. So we used this here internet technology to seek out the location of the next closest restaurant and, with poppy's directions ringing in my ears, I set out to find it.
I discovered the place with little trouble and, after being asked for money by a strange woman in the parking lot, I entered the building, which was empty except for myself and the employees. I ordered the hot wings poppy had requested, then began to consider what I should get for myself. Yes, at this point I had yet to formulate my terrible plan! But when I saw the Double Down on the menu, staring back at me in all its bunless glory, I realized that I had come face to face with destiny. The time had finally come. My doom had enveloped me.
I did not speak the name of the dread "sandwich." I ordered its combo by number. But the thing that I planned to eat was not to remain a secret between myself and the cashier! No - once I'd made my order, the call went back through every employee in the restaurant: "Double Down!" "I need a Double Down here!" "Get me a Double Down!" Back and back and back into the bowels of the KFC the order echoed. I assume far below the ground the Double Down harvesters finally received the call, put on their elbow-length rubber gloves, brought out their long metal pincers, and carefully extracted one of the items, fully-formed, from the pit where they are grown. The thing was then placed in a box and handed back up the chain to land finally in a paper bag that was placed on the counter for me.
Later, I ate it. It was awesome. Seriously, it was great. Fried chicken with bacon and cheese, people! So good. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
