Colonel Not Yet Retired...

No longer able to resist the allure of the eleven herbs and spices--the Colonel's secret recipe wafting out into greater Denver--I made my way this past week to the nearest KFC chain possible. Ostensibly, my purpose was to simply taste-test the company's latest product: the sexy, health-conscious Kentucky Grilled Chicken; in hand, I had a coupon for one complimentary meal. Actually, though, I was much more interested in the stuff outside the bucket. The stuff which, through years of branding and marketing, had created this classic, "finger-lickin" All-American food. 

For years, you see, my family had regularly brought home a bucket of the Colonel's Original Recipe. We would sit in front of the TV and feast away, happy til the bucket was empty. And in high school, it was always Extra Crispy. At one point, my older brother even worked there for an entire year. Why, then, had it now been several years without a single breast, thigh, or drumstick in this boy's life? Wheeling into the classy joint, I immediately realized fried chicken is no longer sexy. 

Perhaps in 1929 fried chicken was sexy. Harland Sanders was just then beginning to see some growth in his road-side cafe in Corbin, Kentucky. Neighbors would fill up on gas, maybe buy some supplies at his convenience store, then head on in for some mighty fine home cookin'. Chicken dishes, of course, were the Colonel's specialty. And dressing up as a true southern gentleman certainly didn't hurt the deal. He was the man with the secret recipe, a man that could cook! Even the finely trimmed goatee, I imagine, was sexy for some. 

Today though, although peak dinner time, the parking lot is dead empty. Not a soul inside except for me, my girlfriend, and two reluctant workers. The Colonel is still up on the wall, naturally, in vintage photos a man of apparent virtue and high character, a relic of simpler times. But the romantic connections between then and now must necessarily stop here. This is no longer 1929. And I am no longer chatting up buddies in a road-side cafe. KFC is a corporate beast.

One of 36,000 units now owned by the corporate giant Yum! Foods--the largest fast-food company worldwide and one which is present in over 110 countries and territories--the little KFC in which I now find myself unfortunately sucks as badly as its corporate brothers and sisters: Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, Long John Silvers, and A&W. Somehow, somewhere, somebody thought it'd be a good idea to mix two restaurants in one. Sell burgers, fries, hotdogs, and fried chicken all under the same roof--how democratic! And, as for logistics, just split the building down the middle...A&W on one side, with a jukebox and diner-style. The rest, well, just leave it as is and throw up a few pics of the chicken-master himself. Al fin: "Ring the bell if your visit was swell." 

My girlfriend and I's night out, however, was not entirely terrible. We were, after all, working quite hard to make the best of things. This, in spite of such hokey ads as: "Celebrate 90 years of A&W with merchandise as cool as our frosted mugs!" And this, despite such ridiculousness as pre-packaged packets of butter, or the horrific afterthought of what suffering these chickens must have lived through [The Colonel must surely be turning in his grave].

We reminisced and told stories. She, of 4th of July's past, spent with a bucket warm and ready amongst friends and family. And I, of a Dad who liked to spread the ketchup thick over his chicken and mashed potatoes in wandering rows. Our memory of Mexicans, too, who in our recent experience just couldn't get enough of the stuff, provided a hearty laugh or two. Invariably, they pronounced it as pollo Kentucky (POI-YO KEN-TOOK-KEY). Before we knew it, we were having a real nice time.

Of course, we now realize why KFC is no longer sexy. After years of having it our way, fast and cheap, Americans miss the old way of doing things. We miss cooking and being in the kitchen, eating with friends. And so we can't help but look at the wreckage now in front of us in some sort of disgust: styrofoam plates littered with greasy napkins, unused packets and paper cups, plastic silverware and plastic wrappers, and however many pounds of frozen food and carbonated drink...just sitting unsettled in our bloated stomachs. 

The Colonel is, reportedly, "not yet retired." This is something which KFC publicly advertises, has framed here on one of their walls, and appears to be wearing as some sort of a badge. And yet, it is also something which makes me wonder, makes it hard not to wonder, after even a cursory look around and just a single meal--though it be a free one--if maybe he shouldn't be.