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Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Chicken Finger Explorations

A chicken finger was what I craved, so head to Burger King I sleighed.  It was a snowy wintry eve and white flakes fell.  I harnessed and fixed my fleet of  avenging neighborhood canines, led by a finicky old Labrador named Rocky, to my sled. Rocky and I had served several tours of duty together in Central Park, and although he was legally blind, plagued with arthritis and severely gassy, there is no other beast I would want leading my sledding team. "Onward boys, onward Rocky!" I hollered into the cold night's air as I tugged the harness. The boys pulled ferociously and the sled began to creep forward. We moved at a brisk 2 miles per 3 hours. You should have seen us!  How majestic we were, I, mounted on my regal sled, and my team of elderly and half-crippled dogs, with Rocky at the front, sleighing through the Bronx as a light and honorable snow fell.

Upon arrival I tied my team of dogs to a street light and approached a homeless man.  "My good man, water my dogs and watch over them," I said as I flipped him a quarter.  I entered the Burger King, and I must confess to you plainly, it was the first time I had entered a Burger King in over 15 years.  "I will take your 5 piece chicken strip basket with fries, and make it honey mustard for the dipping sauce!" I screamed.  I received my cup for my fountain soda and partook in a pre-meal Dr. Pepper.  I swirled the complex flavors in my mouth as I waited for my fingers.

Soon enough my order was ready, and I bid the cashier an affectionate farewell.  "I know, I feel like we're brothers, but brothers do not stop being brothers when one of them must depart on a dangerous journey of over half a black, so do not shed a tear for me!"  He looked deeply moved by my words and so I quickly exited, knowing sometimes it's best to leave at times like those.

When I returned to my sled and team, the homeless man stood vigilant watch.  I flipped him another quarter and thanked him for his work.  I tied up my meal to my rack and ordered the dogs forward.  "Yaw!" I shouted.  As my beasts were tired, the return trip took longer, but I safely made it back and finally sat at my desk.  Outside the regal snow continued falling, and I opened up my chicken strip basket.

The fries were admirably crispy with a nice, puffy potato interior.  All of that being said, the fries simply were not salted -- at all.  Any respectable fry must be salted, so these potatoes were not ones I could recommend.  The chicken strips looked respectable, with a dark, thick batter.  Unfortunately, one bite revealed a soft, pliant, rubbery consistency and a taste which was bland and slightly glue-like.

So in the end it was an epic journey through the snow with Rocky and the team, but the fries and fingers were edible but not much to write home about, which is why I write about it here.  This blog posting will not be sent home.