You know the ones - a headache so painful you can barely move, a terrific sense of urgency to sleep, a stomach that feels as though it could erupt at any moment. Yes my reader friends, we're talking about the daddy of all hangovers, as suffered by this author this very weekend.
The journey ahead of me was long, very long. I could tell I wasn't going to make it, my stomach crying out to me that it was seriously unhappy. And then some respite: a sign at the side of the motorway informed me that a service station was mere moments away. But even better than that: the colonel's smiling face was guiding me in. We pulled into a parking space and I suddenly took a turn for the worse. Let's just say that what happened next in the toilets was highly unpleasant but did at least free up some space for delcious chicken. I was at a low - dizzy, still nauseous and still feeling as though my head was being compressed in a vice. There was only one thing for it.
I headed up what could only be described as the stairway to heaven: the smell of moist, crispy chicken guiding me in. My brain barely functioning I placed a controversial order:
"One 3 piece variety meal and 2 hot rods please."
Was I mad? Delusional? How on earth could this classic even begin to compare to the venerable Zinger Tower?
I started with the rib: succulent, firm and piping hot. Then a few mouthfuls of hot rod accompanied by chips. I could feel the evils of alcohol slipping out of my body. I could barely feel the headache, high as I was on original recipe coating. Next up: original recipe coated mini fillet. All the pleasure of the rib with none of the boney problems that accompanied it. One cleanup wipe later and I was done. Time to head back to the car and see how i'd feel outside the confines of the colonel's safety net.
I spent the next hour or so in the car in pain, but far less pain than prior to the chicken. It was as if with every minute that the variety meal was digesting in my stomach, the feeling of death was fading. And so I have a theory i'd like to share with you, dear readers. Could it be possible that our Lord Sanders was a fan of the bottle? A fan so dedicated that he found himself suffering from the ills of a hangover on a regular basis? And could it therefore be that Harland decided to dedicate his life to finding a cure for his problem? A cure that we now know as the world's most finger lickingly-delcious chicken? Colonel: once again, we salute you.
1 comment:
Much like the emergence of Dock leaves in areas thick with stinging nettles, I firmly believe that the Colonel's sweet elixir came about directly as a product of Kentucky's second most famous export; Bourbon.
Whether or not he foresaw his recipe as the panacea it has become today is another question.
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