Marching into the familiar run-down restaurant of my childhood, a Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC) in San Jose, little me admired the bright red highlights on the walls and white accents lining the empty and tall counters. Whenever my parents asked me where I wanted to go for breakfast, lunch or dinner, I had my go-to answer: fast food.
Much to the dismay of my mom and siblings, my favorite culinary cuisine for the first decade of my life was greasy fast food (my dad happily drove us there together). I loved the moments when my family would share the family-sized buckets of hot wings (our favorite menu item), and although I could never tolerate the spice, I indulged in utmost joy when we all sat around a worn-down table at our local KFC, the hard plastic of the benches foreshadowing a sore behind when I stood up. There is no etiquette in eating fast food — and for that, I found immeasurable pleasure in smothering my 5-year-old face with chicken shreds and crispy crumbs.
Although I eventually grew out of this junk food phase, I was still elated to visit my nearest KFC once in a while with my dad to reminisce about the not-so-rare delicacy.
My brother graduated college when I was in fourth grade and my sister when I was in sixth, so when the pandemic struck all local restaurants, my days of feasting on fried chicken were tragically halted. I forgot about my guilty pleasure, and as I entered high school, the memory of my once true love dissipated.
That is, until my parents and I decided to visit Portugal with our family friends, at the end of my sophomore year. After a week of fun, my dad and I were strolling around the airport when we saw it: a large red-and-white KFC sign, labeling a bright restaurant in the corner of the food court.
Initially, I was skeptical. I thought there was no way that KFC could possibly be as delicious as the icon that childhood-me had idolized it as. My dad and I took a seat after ordering a set of six hot wings. “I’m not hungry,” I remember telling my dad. “Just order a few and I’ll find a seat first.”
Ten minutes later, we were back at the counter ordering another set of a dozen hot wings. “It’s too good to pass up,” my dad had said to me. We finished the food, and I was absolutely stuffed.
Three days after I returned to Saratoga, I decided I wanted to feast on the delicious meal again, and my dad was eager to join me. We drove to the nearest KFC in San Jose and discovered they had removed “hot wings,” from their menu, but this setback did not faze us. We were determined. We had a goal in mind, and we were going to achieve it. We ordered the crispy fried chicken and took our seats.
Yet, this was when my beloved relationship with the KFC hot wings took a turn for the worse. Instead of being served in paper or cardboard boxes or tubs, our 12 pieces of fried chicken were lackadaisically thrown into a black plastic takeout box with buffalo sauce smothered all over it.
I admit, the buffalo sauce disaster was my fault. When the cashier asked what sauce we wanted, I confidently said “buffalo please” after spotting it on the menu. But in my defense, I thought it was going to be served on the side — like the sauce packets you get with McDonalds chicken nuggets or fries. The thing is, I didn’t even like buffalo sauce. Neither did my dad. So instead of enjoying our fried chicken, we instead resorted to wiping off all the red and spicy sauce using napkins from the dispenser until most of it was gone and the only remnants were nestled deep within the grooves of the crispy coating.
However, this wasn’t the only problem. The pieces of fried chicken had been majorly burned, and the crust was no longer the crispy and flavorful coating from my memories. Instead, it was just hard and crunchy. The chicken inside was still yummy, but there was barely any meat hidden underneath the thick crust. My days of reminiscing about my family’s bygone days with fried chicken were over.
After this negative experience, I have retreated to the comfortable and welcoming confines of McDonalds, terrified of what lies inside those red and white KFC buildings. Although I once loved KFC with all my heart, they changed with time. Maybe we were never meant to last.
Perhaps, one day, when they bring “hot wings” back to the menu, I will give KFC another try. But until then, I’ll be keeping my distance.
