-^-for posterity-^-

kentucky fried chicken doesn’t really fry chicken, it soaks it in warm oil. the meat and breading acts like a sponge. the mashed potatoes are made from off white powder stored in vapid plastic bags. if you mix it with boiling water you have a mound of grit and mush that will suffice. the gravy is made exactly the same way. the coleslaw is precut and prepackaged. all you have to do is dump its contents out into a large bin and mix it with a thick, syrupy juice that looks like a mixture of mayonnaise, molasses and kerosene. it’s all quite disgusting and very american. if you don’t mind excess sodium, saturated fat and you don’t have a problem with the ephemeral nature of it’s preparation, it’s tasty food.

when i arrived in ho chi minh city there was only one kfc. now, about ten months later, there are eight. i have never eaten there because it goes against every fleeting thought that has ever passed between my ears.

my family has a long and sorted relationship with the colonel. my father used to work at a chicken factory. that factory sold chicken to all of the stores in eastern pennsylvania, new jersey and delaware. my father knows kfc. i used to be a truck driver for that factory. i used to wake up at the crack of dawn, drive to work, hop in a tractor trailer that was filled to the gills with cold, slimy, decapitated, freshly slaughtered chickens and drive throughout philadelphia slowly lightening my load. i know kdc.

i know kfc and i refuse to eat there.

well, i had refused until my parents came to visit. there’s a new kfc in town. it’s located above the remains of what was a wonderful coffee shop. ah, the price of ‘progress’. it’s a stereotypical postmodern building: all things shiny, all things firm and secure yet all things hallow and plastic and meaningless. the building looks like it is old and well kept.

we walked in and ordered. i crossed my arms instinctively. this was definitely a cross-cultural experience. we ordered ten pieces of chicken, mashed potatoes, coleslaw and pepsi. it was all placed on a tray and we sat down. we could have been anywhere in the world. we could have been on fifty second and market street in philadelphia. we could have been in madrid. we could have been in belfast. we could have been in new york, sanfrancisco, beverly hills or oakland.

we ate. the chicken sat heavily in our stomach. the pepsi frothed on the top. the potatoes mixed between and the coleslaw floated lightly on top like trash in a river. we threw our pennies in the cplonel's coffer and headed home confused as to where, exactly, we were.