From: bc@apple.com (bill coderre)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: Mealtime Musings
Date: 30 Sep 92 04:56:42 GMT
Organization: Apple Computer Inc, Cupertino, CA


I had just put the new torsion spring on the back of the Vair and
dropped it to the pavement. I put the tools, jackstands, and floorjack
back in the trunk, pulled on a sweatshirt that smelled like simu-lead,
and drove to EPA.

East Palo Alto is one of the more frightening places to drive after
dark. The last time I was there was fourth-of-july, and I kept
wondering about the firecracker sounds I kept hearing.

I pulled up to the Popeye's fried chicken restaurant, over to the
drive-thru menu. Time for the reward. "9 nuggets, extra honey, 6
biscuits, and a quart of red beans and rice."

I drove to the pickup window, and slid a twenty under the change dish.
The cashier retracted and revolved the bulletproof, turnstile window,
and held the bill up to the light.

While I waited for the food, I listened to the engine idling and
looked across the street at the KFC. Why there would be two chicken
stands facing each other was a slight mystery to me. I looked in my
rear-view mirror. A young woman approached, smiled, and stood just out
of the vision of the cashier. Uh-oh.

Soon the window revolved again, and the food and my change were
extended to me. Quickly I grabbed the food, tossed it on the passenger
seat, the change, tossed it in the bag, and sped away.

When I returned home, I thought some more about the Popeye's and the
KFC. Colonel Harlan Sanders spent years building up his empire of
take-out fried chicken restaurants, partially by an incredibly clever
pressure cooker technology that makes the chicken moist and the
coating crispy (then the hallmark of perfectly-prepared chicken),
partially by his famous secret recipe (11 herbs and spices that stand
on anyone's kitchen shelves), and partially by sheer shoeleather.

He was persuaded to sell his franchise to the Heublein company (makers
of horrible trendy schnaps liquers), in what proved to be his worst
move ever. He was hilariously cheated by his business partner, who
talked him into accepting far too little money just before the chain
struck gold. Apparently the partner ended up with more money than
Sanders. 

The second worst part of this whole saga is that the current owners
have felt no reverence for Sanders's recipes. There are no 11 herbs
and spices any more, only salt, pepper and MSG. Don't even ask about
the once famous KFC gravy -- another secret recipe consigned to a bank
vault owned by a committee of managers that specialize in budget
airline food. It now tastes the same as its color -- pale brown
without any features or textures at all.

But that is only the second worst part. The worst part is to think
about Harlan Sanders, who sold his face and his name for far too
little, who then was contractually bound to be a spokesman for swill,
and unable to use his own famous recipes.

I thought of all of this as I ate my Popeye's food. Red beans and rice
were the result of a brooding cuisine -- dark, sinister, angst-ridden.
Biscuits, so springy you'd think they were egg souffles, soaked with
melted butter. And chicken, bursting with moisture and spice, the edge
toned down a little by liberal coating with honey.

I thought of all of this while I lay in bed thinking of the life-size
plastic Colonel Sanders in the bulletproof shrine outside the KFC in
the rich part of Palo Alto. I want a plastic Colonel Sanders
desperately. I must have one in the corner of my room, smiling at me
while I sleep. Perhaps I could modify it to glow softly at night.

mr HEINOUS
Popcorn Chicken(TM) is the by-product of Skin-Free Crispy(R)


Newsgroups: talk.bizarre