Wait, Why Did I Just Eat a KFC Double Down?
What have I done?
Should I be experiencing fear? What did I expect, after rolling through the KFC drive-thru, cautiously, and saying -- with a finger point of purpose -- "I'll have the Double Down"? Simply because it recently returned to the menu after a probably sensible absence? Should I expect more from a sandwich that's named after the 100 percent increase of a bet?
Am I Double Downing on the bet that my liver will turn into a bloated raft made of fried bits?
Why was the wait at the KFC on Lemmon avenue almost 15 minutes for drive through? Was the real reason for the epic wait actually that "they had to make it fresh for me," as the nice KFC employee said?
Are you saying that Double Downs delivered in the normal swiftness are not in peak freshness? Are chickens not being feathered and slaughtered on site?
Also, more generally, should we anticipate the replacement of other utlitarian food items -- like straws, lids, cups, arms, fingers and boxes -- to be replaced with fried chicken? Am I fried chicken? Is Earth merely a fried chicken, and we're all just drumsticks on this big fried blue marble in the Universe? Is it fried chicken all the way down?
Am I going to be OK?
Why do I feel a potent blade of doom?
It's the chicken, yes? Cool, so, should I eat the whole thing? It's four million times smaller than the photo and less melty: are all the other chicken sandwich photos on Earth also lies?
Is it good that the chicken is shaped like a couple of water damaged, fried wallets? The chicken was strangely, uniformly heavy -- is that OK as well? In the giant KFC Double Down graphic, the one that was looming menacingly over me as I waited in front of KFC, I saw brownish, liquid buds of the "Colonel's secret sauce." Where is that delicious elixir on my sandwich?
You know, KFC, I wasn't planning on playing it safe, which is why I ordered something called the "Double Down," so why did someone give me only one slice of bacon?
Now that I've eaten the whole thing, is it a moral certainty that I've now become a member of a secret Double Down club? Will I be able to take part in a society of underground chicken-as-bun eaters, and be sent a customized medallion? Is it possible that I've now reached some sort of fast food nirvana because this "sandwich" was not just a sandwich?
Wait, did I actually like the Double Down?
Am I going to be OK?
Get the Dining Newsletter
The week's top local food news and events, plus interviews with chefs and restaurant owners, dining tips, and a peek at our print review.