Double Down!

It isn't news to anyone that I love fried chicken. I've written before about my love for everything Kentucky Fried, and I may have even mentioned that I'll eat until I have to roll around the floor in a big greasy pile, stomach distended from scarfing too many drummies and wings. It might even qualify as an addiction. An obsession, at least.

Last night, I took that obsession to a new level. I ate a KFC Double Down sandwich.

Frankly, what surprises me most was that I survived the experience and lived to type about it. But, we'll start at the beginning.

Yesterday was a bit stressful. Most days are a bit stressful now that I'm a Captain of Industry, but yesterday had its own unique complications and I needed greasy food salve for my wounds. Tony suggested the KFC, and you know as well I do that nothing trumps the siren song of Extra Crispy. Then Mom kicked it up a notch and said that in addition to the bucket we always get, she wanted to try the Double Down.

(Keep in mind that my mom has become one of those senior citizens who eats a dollop of potato salad and calls that dinner. I didn't think she'd be able to handle the double downage. So I offered to share it with her. Aren't I generous?)

And so, at 5:45, we drove off into the sunset, in search of crispy, salty meat products. The KFC here in Florence is about 20 minutes from the house, so the drive there is filled with anticipation, and the drive back is filled with the smell of fried chicken. At the drive-up, I told mom that the guys in the window were probably wondering what two hot ladies like ourselves were going to do with a whole bucket of chicken AND a Double Down, but they were probably just wondering why the entire country hasn't died of a heart attack already. Or what the change from $21 would be since the total was $20.50. Yes, one bucket of chicken with no sides and a Double Down costs $20.50. Mom is not a cheap date.

Once we arrived home, I knew we had approximately 30 seconds before the destroyer of chicken showed up. Tony can reduce a bucket to a few scraps of skin and a pile of bones in three minutes flat, so you have to get in, get what you want, and get out, perhaps with your fingers intact, perhaps not. Mom has a habit of dithering around the kitchen after we get take-out, gathering drinks, getting silverware, checking on the dogs, knitting a sweater, etc. She doesn't understand the Chicken Imperative. I grabbed the Double Down, hid it in a cabinet and called for Jack to Loose the Hounds (let Tony out of the attic so he can eat.)

As Tony was devouring his third piece of Kentucky Fried, Mom finally landed at the table to start eating. We cut the DD in half (actually thirds - Mom got 2/3 and I got the scrappins - she's not good at sharing) and braced ourselves for the chicken-y, bacon-y, cheesy goodness.

The verdict? Meh.

I'll admit, it was tasty. But was it more tasty than a piece of extra-crispy KFC? Not really. The box they put it in kinda steams out the crispiness and the bacon adds another (unnecessary) layer of salt to an already salty product. I enjoyed it, but I don't think I'll be purchasing another.

I did eat two drummies, though, and those were fantastic. That's right, people. I ate a third of a Double Down AND two drumsticks. And some potato salad. Save your judgements for someone who cares that it's swimsuit season.

This morning, however, I felt like I'd been doing salt shooters all night. I've had almost a gallon of water today and my body still feels like the Sahara.

So, my Double Down recommendations:

1. Eat a Double Down at least once in your life. It's a cultural experience.
2. Drink lots of water with the DD.
3. Eat it as soon as you order it so the packaging can't steam it to death.
4. Tell no one.