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Thursday, April 15, 2010


Welcome, welcome to my trials and trevails in the unpredictable world of food tasting.  I have traveled the globe, dined with dignitaries, and savored delicacies (and occasional atrocities) from Aruba to Zimbabwe. To put it mildy, I know food.
I am, of course, Chauncey St. Bernard, but I'm sure you already knew that.
This week I attempted something different and lowered my standards (oh the horror) to sample some 'fast food'. I know what you're thinking, "dear Lord Chauncey how could such a refined and revered beacon of class and distinction stoop so low?"
Well trust me dear readers, it shan't happen again, that I can tell you.
The reason for my treasonous act was simple and innocent. Curiosity.
KFC (yes that greasy old clucker from Kentucky) has created a media blitz with its new chicken "sandwich" called the 'Double Down'. I, like many others, was curious about a breadless sandwich that consists of two boneless chicken filets filled with two types of cheese, two pieces of bacon, and a secret sauce. Intriguing.
I rubbed elbows with the common folk, they of their Walmart purchased attire and Flowbee vacuumed haircuts. A moment of weakness, one I will not be repeating any time soon.
I stepped up to the counter with perspiring brow and heavy heart, and ordered one 'Double Down' sandwich and a diet soda.
I sat down in a filthy corner table, tucked a paper napkin in my shirt collar, blessed myself, and began a frightful journey that will haunt me to my dying days (which could be any day after that "sandwich").
The saliva in my mouth immediately dried up from the enormous amount of sodium contained in the stringy chicken filets and limp bacon. I drained my soda container dry in one panicked sip, and ran screaming up to the fountain for an emergency refill. The patrons stared at me as if I were a three legged leper.
I sat back down, composed myself, and attempted another bite. This time I was prepared with drink in hand. The greasy and repulsive sandwich went through my system instantaneously, treating my intestines like a wildfire burning through a dry forest. Quick and devastating. I felt it coming, but was defenseless against its brutish force as I puckered my sphincter and made a run for the world's most disgusting bathroom. You can imagine the rest, I will spare you the gory details, suffice it to say that those clothes were promptly incinerated upon my arrival home.
I crawled up in a ball in a corner and rocked and cried myself to sleep. Col Sanders literally gave me the bird that afternoon, and my ravaged interior, and posterior for that matter, may never be the same again. If you value your health (and your dignity) please stay away from the cholesterol infused "Double Down" sandwich.
You'll thank me.
Until next time, I am as always, Chauncey St. Bernard.
Bon Appetit !

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