My 64th Kentucky Fried Chicken Dinner

A few years ago, the administration and stockholders of Kentucky Fried Chicken changed the public presence of their name to K.F.C. for the same reason that,  in polite company, most of us say “S.O.B.” Spelled out, it seems more a threat to the morality of our great nation than it seems when we use F. L.s (first letters). I observed my 64th birthday by arriving at AeroKnow Museum, Abraham Lincoln Capital Airport at 7:50 in the morning and working until 5:15.
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About 5:20 Monday afternoon, September 5, seeking a reward to myself for staying alive for 64 consecutive years, drove to the K.F.C. on West Jefferson for a rewarding repast I would take home and savor with all the Carlo Rossi Burgundy I could hold. This was the first anticipated dinner in a long time in which I looked forward to the food more than I looked forward to the beverage.
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It was the first time I to have carried food home from a ”K.’C.”  (there’s an idea for you admins and shareholders) since 1968. During my fried chicken-eating years (about 1980 to 1990)  I ate Famous Recipe Fried Chicken almost every Tuesday night (three pieces slaw and mashed potatoes: $1.99 and then for about three years,  (1990 — 1993) Hardees had a Sunday special of a 10 piece bucket for $5.97; same as a gallon jug of Carlo Rossi Burgundy from Midway Liquors just a few blocks east of the South Grand at Sixth Street Hardees store. Those didn’t compare to 1968.
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Carole King (her real name, no relation Carole King ”Tapestry” fame) was the first woman I ever courted after I began playing guitar and writing my own folksongs (as well as performing acoustic Dylan, Tom Paxton, Phil Oches, P.P.&M. and Theo Bikel) in Springfield coffee houses. Regularly we would dine on Kentucky Fried Chicken from the store located across the street from the original Cozy Dog Drive-In with the Dairy Queen attached.  We did this so often, I remember the price like yesterday: a bucket of 21 pieces Kentucky Fried Chicken original recipe (they hadn’t “invented ’extra-crispy’ at the time) $5.97 . . . no fripping KIDDING! 
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September 5 was my second time in a K.F.C. since 1968. A few years ago, I visited the one on north Ninth St., but I honestly don’t remember – for certain — taking food home. I recall I was so offended by what I encountered, I recall turning around after enduring almost five minutes of real culture shock about eight years ago and walking out before ordering.  I won’t give you the details; the tale would not make me look as liberal as I like to think I am.
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At 5:25 on a sunny September 5, I held the door for a family departing with carry out and waited for the customer already there to decide what to order. I was amazed by the larger menu. I had occasionally “chickened” at this store in the 70s; not often, but always gladly. Just for the heck of it, I looked for the 21-piece bucket on the menu above the counter. There was no 21-piece bucket any more. The most offered were 18 pieces for something more than $30 with two sides; no drink. I had come for the eight-piece dinner special for $15,95.  I had enjoyed extra-crispy once in the 70s, but I preferred the original recipe. When the fine fellow at the counter asked “Would you like extra-crispy?” I responded, “Yes, please.” I was on an anticipatory high. “Bring it on, Brandon, Let the good times roll!” I thought to myself.
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There were more sides than offered in 1970-something for sure, but I was playing things conservatively. I asked for the cole slaw and mashed potatoes. Total cost for this bargain: $16.27! I could have dined at Chesapeake Seafood House for that much, but I could not have dined as many times. I knew I’d have leftover chicken and biscuits (with K’C honey of course), probably some leftover slaw (I did) but for sure, no leftover mashed potatoes.
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Unlike in days of yore, they packaged the brown gravy separately. Nice idea! 
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The potatoes, moderately gravied with about a third to be discarded two days later, were the first to a fork, followed by slaw. I COULD have enjoyed just potatoes and slaw — fresh, they were that good. They were at their prime, fresh and just home. I ate two pieces of fried chicken. I was happy, the Burgundy was the perfect complement to the assemblage, and I didn’t over eat to the point of discomfort.”
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It was the best meal I’ve had at home in recent memory, that I, indirectly as it may be, have brought to my house. Others, back in days of “friends and roses” have brought better, but without a doubt, this dinner, combined with many MANY kind wishes from Facebook friends, made me feel like one mother’s lucky son. And that is how I felt when I went to bed a few hours later.

I’m already planning my next birthday. If I live to be 65 — and if I were a betting man, I would not bet that it will happen — I will have at least one friend, and I will have 101 octane Wild Turkey. It’s like my U.S. Air Force mouse pad says: AIM HIGH.

Live long . . . . . . . and proper.