Come Christmas Eve, Malaya and I were sick of home cooking and decided we wanted to eat out. Our first thought was Chinese food since well -- A Christmas Story was on its usual twenty-four hour marathon, and "Fa rah rah rah rah, rah rah rah rah." Plus we like Chinese food and don't get it all that often.
Unfortunately, the local place we usually pick up from, which is always very busy, was closed the 24th and 25th. "Damnit, foreigners!" I exclaimed at their answering machine message. "You're not supposed to be Christians! How dare you assimilate to my inconvenience!"
Wracking our brains for an alternative, we ruled out pizza for no particular reason, before I suddenly said, "I wants chicken!" We last ate KFC in about 2005, but with the statement made, our desire for it grew large enough to overshadow all other dietary concepts.
"Do we have any coupons?" I asked, knowing full well that 1) we get one every week at the PO Box, 2) I always throw it and the rest of the junk mail away, and 3) we never get the same junk mail at the apartment. Malaya looked and found one in the Entertainment Book, but of course it was for a single restaurant, way the hell
down south in Fremont.
We knew there was a KFC in Lafayette though, and said what the hell, we'd just pay full price. So into the car we hopped, at around 6pm Christmas Eve, and drove down Mt. Diablo Blvd. Past the new library site, past McDonald's, past Jack in the Box, and as we got near the hardware store I was like, "I'm pretty sure it was way back there, and it was gone."
Malaya was dozing and grunted, so we drove back yep, there was an unoccupied fast food establishment, emptied of plastic tables and unadorned by signs or brightly-colored logos, but still boasting the distinctive
steeple architecture. The sign in the window said, "Coming Soon." Okay, but what's coming soon? A new house of chicken torture, or something different?
It hardly mattered, since we couldn't imagine the new arrival would come in Santa's sleigh, so into the car we hopped to find another outlet. Since most people do like me, and throw their junk mail in the trash right at the post office, I figured we could just cruise up the street (we were only a few blocks away) and root through the trash and find a KFC mailer, giving us not only a coupon, but a list of locations. The only one I knew of was on the way to Costco, and that's way the hell over in Concord, nearly 15 miles and innumerable stop lights and clueless Christmas Eve drivers away.
I was half right. I found a KFC coupon soon enough, near the top of the first recyclables bin I dumpster dove into. It didn't tell me anymore about how to buy the shit though, since there were no locations listed. So, away to Concord we went, and of course now that I'm at my computer and I check the KFC website, I see that they have
a location in much nearer-by Walnut Creek. Beak-ripping sons of bitches!
Wait, the story gets even worse.
So we drove out to Concord, putting along at 65ish on the uncrowded freeway since everyone was either too drunk or too full of Xmas fucking cheer to remember the location of their gas pedals. And the "restaurant" was even open, much to our relief after we'd seen innumerable other stores closed on the way out there. Honestly, since when is Christmas Eve a holiday? I always had to work it without any extra pay back when I was still a contributing member of society.
KFC was open though, and crowded, with several cars in the drive through and lots of people inside. We soon found out why. "We out of chicken. All regular and no crispy. Twenty minute." the manager breathlessly informed us with an accent that would have been more at home at
Crazy Grilled Chicken than Kentucky Fried Chicken.
Nonplussed, Malaya and I took a moment to get our oars back into the water. "But we have a coupon." I insisted, to no one in particular. Tragically, a closer look showed no guarantee of actual chicken availability on said coupon, so it looked like we were stuck waiting. It was 6:45, they were closing at 7:00, and the chicken would not be ready for 20 minutes. Kentucky Fried Venison was not an option.
So we waited, of course. Sitting quietly, in a corner booth, waiting our turn to consume. Like good Americans. I put in our order first, and got us a six-piece meal, with two cole slaws, two mashed potatoes, and two biscuits. It was $7.99 (plus tax) on the coupon, and the register went up to about $12.25 when she rang it up, so I guess the $3 we saved pretty much cancelled out, factoring in the ice cap-melting gas I burned driving out there. But we had chicken! And mashed potato foam-like stuff! And confetti-ed cabbage with white goo on top! And biscuits!
Well, not so much the last one. We got one biscuit and 1 slab o'cornbread, since that's all they had left. I guess Santa's pretty much out of luck when he shows.
Unsurprisingly, given that they fried it up at the last minute, while in a hurry to get home for some Feliz Navidad, the chicken was somewhat undercooked and the skin was falling off the meat when we got it home and dug in. My biscuit was pretty good too, though I can't really vouch for Malaya's cornbread slab.
On the whole, it wasn't a bad meal, though I'm not really ready to declare this a new holiday tradition or anything. It was interesting, and we certainly saw customers of every um... socioeconomic level at the store. Two fat women in pink shoes and wild hair, an old man with a dent in the side of his head and eyes that fell hungrily upon Malaya's sweatshirt-swathed form, and their leader, a half-shaved homeless mental patient sitting outside and staring unblinkingly in through the window.
That we had one big breast piece left over to pick apart, cold, on Christmas morning was a nice bonus. The fact that that's all we had left highlighted the fact that we should probably have ordered a 12 or 16 piece bucket,
calories be damned. As everyone knows, calories don't count between Xmas and New Years. Not even when you rack up well over 1000 for two pieces of fried chicken, two small side dishes, and a small drink.
Labels: fast food
