I don’t deny it. Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC) is my favorite fastfood in the whole wide world. For an environmentalist that is quite disgraceful, I know. But as everybody is entitled to their own simple pleasures in life, these 3 letters have just always been one of mine—K.F.C.
The other weekend, after long months of searching, I finally got a taste of good old Kentucky Fried Chicken—or so I had hoped.
Ever since I was a kid, I have had only good memories of KFC. Having grown up in Los Baños, a town that was not yet invaded by fastfood chains the likes of KFC, eating their chicken became quite a treat. Being the first child and the center of my parents’ universe at that time, during some weekends, I remember the three of us would go to Manila for just a day, shop at Harisson Plaza, and come back home with one big bucket of KFC, lots of gravy and extra coleslaw! Things couldn’t have gotten any better than that.
When we moved to Dumaguete there was, yet again, no KFC yet. But my family and I survived. Cebu City, an island approximately 3 hours away, had KFC.
Fast forward. In my mid-twenties and 3 siblings later, I decided to go and work in Manila.
The first time I went back home to visit, I remember going to a KFC branch close to my apartment the night before (at that time, I finally lived in a place where there was a great abundance of KFC. Hmmm…come to think about it, that may have just been the subconscious reason why I moved to Manila in the first place. Hehe) and ordered one bucket of KFC: 6 original and 6 hot and spicy with extra gravy, and a large coleslaw.
In the cab on the way to the airport the next day, I held that bucket with pride. On board the plane, I put my bucket of KFC on the luggage compartment with dignity. All that time, I knew the effort was all worth it and besides, it wasn’t a can of Rebisco cookies anyway, was what I told myself. I was bringing with me the three key ingredients to happiness = chicken + gravy + coleslaw.
When I got home, the look on my siblings faces reminded me of how I felt when my papa would come home from a trip to Manila, bringing with him a bucket of KFC. I felt happy.
Before I moved to Belgium, not having a KFC branch was one of my main concerns (that and the absence of “Ivory” brand soap—mind you, these issues at that time seemed to be a matter of utmost importance. hehe). It ended up getting so bad that I joined the “Bring KFC to Belgium” group on Facebook. Really pathetic. Friends started suggesting places that had KFC. These places mostly ended up being a country or two away…so you get the picture.
Finally, our American friend, S, mentioned that there was a KFC somewhere in Lille. Lille is on the border of France, approximately 45mins away. One late afternoon, K proposed all of a sudden to pay Lille a visit with a knowing look on his face. Without any hesitation, I flat ironed my hair, put on some make-up and perfume, wore a nice outfit and got this close to jumping up and clicking my heels with delight. It was the moment I had been waiting for.
Either K was a very good sport or he was just subconsciously pressured into doing so, he ended up unexpectedly changing into a long-sleeved polo shirt, black jeans, and dress shoes for our most awaited and long overdue KFC dinner date. I admit, I don’t normally dress up to have dinner (more so at KFC?!@#%) but this was a momentous occasion for me. After months of being KFC deprived, I forgot that I didn't speak French and wanted to look special when ordering my hot and spicy, extra crispy chicken, gravy, and coleslaw with Mountain Dew, if they had that in France.
So we started on our journey to happiness. We were off to Lille! I was so excited that not even the cold could freeze my spirits.
When we arrived at Lille I grew very anxious waiting for our trusty GPS (we call her “Sophie” for no particular reason) to bring us to THE place. Finally, there she was. Nestled in a corner of what seemed to be the highway….waiting for me all this time, calling out to me…there was my KFC outlet.
I couldn’t wait to get out of the car. I was giddy with excitement. At the entrance I even wanted to have my picture taken! But alas, in all the preparations, we had unfortunately forgotten our camera—again!! Besides, K already started giving me “the look” so I decided not to push him to take my picture using his phone. Hehe
While we were waiting for our turn, I searched the menu over and over again until it finally dawned upon me: Oh my gosh! There was no rice!!!
How can I eat KFC without rice?!?! Stupid me! I should have brought a Tupperware of rice with me! I should’ve known! But it’s okay, Jacki. The important thing is the yummy chicken, dipped in gravy, together with their heavenly coleslaw, isn’t it? Yes, Jacki. That’s what is important. You can live without rice for one meal.
Finally, it was our turn and having gotten over my earlier disappointment, I eagerly told K what my order was so he could translate it to the waitress.
“Bizwa fushwa boozhoo wee zhoo”, was what I deciphered from the lady behind the counter.
K asked me, “What type of gravy do you want?”
I said, “Ummm…there is only one type of gravy in KFC. I want THE KFC gravy.”
Then K spoke to the girl again. While this was transpiring, a weird, sickening feeling started to creep up inside me.
K turned to me again, “She says they only have sauces. She doesn’t know what gravy is.”
I almost turned pale, “Gravy, you know, it’s brown. I mean...it’s gravy!”
I finally realized that they just didn’t have any gravy. Never had and maybe never will have.
My heart sank.
I grudgingly said, it’s okay. I’ll just have coleslaw then.
K spoke to the girl.
Again the, “Bwoozhoo zhini amtwoh zhizu.”
“They don’t have coleslaw either.”, K told me hesistantly.
I wanted to cry. So much for happiness. I just started staring off into space and didn’t even mind that they didn’t have any Mountain Dew. Well at least they had chicken, right? Ugh, no wonder KFC Stockholm went bankrupt.
The first couple of pieces of crispy chicken wings were eaten in stunned silence. They became a vague memory. Suddenly, something just clicked inside me (no, it wasn't one of the loose screws). I realized that I should still be happy. There I was sitting inside KFC in a small town in France, eating my favorite chicken in the whole wide world, with the man I love, who drove all the way to another country--literally, just to cater to my craving. There was a lot to be happy about and our KFC experience just made up another wonderful memory to add to my own.
I have vowed to simply wait until I come home to my country to eat KFC. After all, I have lived without it before, I just have to live without it again.
Although I will never go back to Lille for KFC, the experience just reminded me again that in life, it doesn’t really take much to be happy--it shouldn't. For me, it can be something as simple as a set menu from KFC.
The other weekend, after long months of searching, I finally got a taste of good old Kentucky Fried Chicken—or so I had hoped.
Ever since I was a kid, I have had only good memories of KFC. Having grown up in Los Baños, a town that was not yet invaded by fastfood chains the likes of KFC, eating their chicken became quite a treat. Being the first child and the center of my parents’ universe at that time, during some weekends, I remember the three of us would go to Manila for just a day, shop at Harisson Plaza, and come back home with one big bucket of KFC, lots of gravy and extra coleslaw! Things couldn’t have gotten any better than that.
When we moved to Dumaguete there was, yet again, no KFC yet. But my family and I survived. Cebu City, an island approximately 3 hours away, had KFC.
Fast forward. In my mid-twenties and 3 siblings later, I decided to go and work in Manila.
The first time I went back home to visit, I remember going to a KFC branch close to my apartment the night before (at that time, I finally lived in a place where there was a great abundance of KFC. Hmmm…come to think about it, that may have just been the subconscious reason why I moved to Manila in the first place. Hehe) and ordered one bucket of KFC: 6 original and 6 hot and spicy with extra gravy, and a large coleslaw.
In the cab on the way to the airport the next day, I held that bucket with pride. On board the plane, I put my bucket of KFC on the luggage compartment with dignity. All that time, I knew the effort was all worth it and besides, it wasn’t a can of Rebisco cookies anyway, was what I told myself. I was bringing with me the three key ingredients to happiness = chicken + gravy + coleslaw.
When I got home, the look on my siblings faces reminded me of how I felt when my papa would come home from a trip to Manila, bringing with him a bucket of KFC. I felt happy.
Before I moved to Belgium, not having a KFC branch was one of my main concerns (that and the absence of “Ivory” brand soap—mind you, these issues at that time seemed to be a matter of utmost importance. hehe). It ended up getting so bad that I joined the “Bring KFC to Belgium” group on Facebook. Really pathetic. Friends started suggesting places that had KFC. These places mostly ended up being a country or two away…so you get the picture.
Finally, our American friend, S, mentioned that there was a KFC somewhere in Lille. Lille is on the border of France, approximately 45mins away. One late afternoon, K proposed all of a sudden to pay Lille a visit with a knowing look on his face. Without any hesitation, I flat ironed my hair, put on some make-up and perfume, wore a nice outfit and got this close to jumping up and clicking my heels with delight. It was the moment I had been waiting for.
Either K was a very good sport or he was just subconsciously pressured into doing so, he ended up unexpectedly changing into a long-sleeved polo shirt, black jeans, and dress shoes for our most awaited and long overdue KFC dinner date. I admit, I don’t normally dress up to have dinner (more so at KFC?!@#%) but this was a momentous occasion for me. After months of being KFC deprived, I forgot that I didn't speak French and wanted to look special when ordering my hot and spicy, extra crispy chicken, gravy, and coleslaw with Mountain Dew, if they had that in France.
So we started on our journey to happiness. We were off to Lille! I was so excited that not even the cold could freeze my spirits.
When we arrived at Lille I grew very anxious waiting for our trusty GPS (we call her “Sophie” for no particular reason) to bring us to THE place. Finally, there she was. Nestled in a corner of what seemed to be the highway….waiting for me all this time, calling out to me…there was my KFC outlet.
I couldn’t wait to get out of the car. I was giddy with excitement. At the entrance I even wanted to have my picture taken! But alas, in all the preparations, we had unfortunately forgotten our camera—again!! Besides, K already started giving me “the look” so I decided not to push him to take my picture using his phone. Hehe
While we were waiting for our turn, I searched the menu over and over again until it finally dawned upon me: Oh my gosh! There was no rice!!!
How can I eat KFC without rice?!?! Stupid me! I should have brought a Tupperware of rice with me! I should’ve known! But it’s okay, Jacki. The important thing is the yummy chicken, dipped in gravy, together with their heavenly coleslaw, isn’t it? Yes, Jacki. That’s what is important. You can live without rice for one meal.
Finally, it was our turn and having gotten over my earlier disappointment, I eagerly told K what my order was so he could translate it to the waitress.
“Bizwa fushwa boozhoo wee zhoo”, was what I deciphered from the lady behind the counter.
K asked me, “What type of gravy do you want?”
I said, “Ummm…there is only one type of gravy in KFC. I want THE KFC gravy.”
Then K spoke to the girl again. While this was transpiring, a weird, sickening feeling started to creep up inside me.
K turned to me again, “She says they only have sauces. She doesn’t know what gravy is.”
I almost turned pale, “Gravy, you know, it’s brown. I mean...it’s gravy!”
I finally realized that they just didn’t have any gravy. Never had and maybe never will have.
My heart sank.
I grudgingly said, it’s okay. I’ll just have coleslaw then.
K spoke to the girl.
Again the, “Bwoozhoo zhini amtwoh zhizu.”
“They don’t have coleslaw either.”, K told me hesistantly.
I wanted to cry. So much for happiness. I just started staring off into space and didn’t even mind that they didn’t have any Mountain Dew. Well at least they had chicken, right? Ugh, no wonder KFC Stockholm went bankrupt.
The first couple of pieces of crispy chicken wings were eaten in stunned silence. They became a vague memory. Suddenly, something just clicked inside me (no, it wasn't one of the loose screws). I realized that I should still be happy. There I was sitting inside KFC in a small town in France, eating my favorite chicken in the whole wide world, with the man I love, who drove all the way to another country--literally, just to cater to my craving. There was a lot to be happy about and our KFC experience just made up another wonderful memory to add to my own.
I have vowed to simply wait until I come home to my country to eat KFC. After all, I have lived without it before, I just have to live without it again.
Although I will never go back to Lille for KFC, the experience just reminded me again that in life, it doesn’t really take much to be happy--it shouldn't. For me, it can be something as simple as a set menu from KFC.
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