C.N.H. V.S. KFC: Doubledown Throwdown in O-Town

Posted: August 12, 2010 in Pop Culture
Tags: , , , , , , ,

As soon as the buzz began surrounding the KFC Doubledown I knew that we were on a collision course.  A sweet, greasy, extra-crispy collision.  For a few months I flirted with the idea of heading into KFC and publicly declaring my obesity by laying down the 5 bucks and change for this behemoth of bacon.  Until recently the Doubledown had been far away; rumbling in the distance like a thunderstorm just out of sight.  Then something glorious happened.  Something miraculous.  I got paid.

Upon receiving my meager paycheck I did what any red-blooded, soon-to-be-college grad would do: limbered up, stretched properly and headed down to my local KFC.  I decided once and for all to see if this sandwich was more than just a really, really good fat joke.

I pulled into the KFC drive-thru and my heart starting beating.  I wasn’t sure if it was because of the soon-to-be fat man’s dream fulfilled or simply the fact that I’d just had to walk to my car in the 114 degree heat index.  At the drive-thru ordering box I found myself with my first dilemma: I couldn’t understand anything the drive-thru lady was saying.  I knew that I wanted a Doubledown.  That was as far as I’d planned ahead.  Now I found myself on the precipice of Doubledown glory and blocking my way was an unrecognizable Darth-Vader-sounding employee.

She thrust with a “What?!?” and I parried with a “I’m Sorry?!?”  She lunged with a “Did you want any asdczxcadsczxc with that?” and all I could muster was a “No thanks.”  As I pulled my vehicle around the side of the graffitied-up building I worried that I’d blown my chance.  Maybe, through our botched communications, I had told her to hold the bacon.  Or cheese.  Both of these ingredients were supposed to be key parts to the experience and having the Doubledown without bacon or cheese would be like closing your eyes on a trip to the Louvre.

I did have the wherewithal to not order fries.  I knew deep down that while my stomach told me “Hell yes, let’s make this bad boy a meal.”  My artery’s were screaming, “NOOOOOOOO!”  I erred on the side of caution.  After meeting Darth Drive-thru face to face, receiving my sandwich and heading off I felt ready to claim my prize.

I stopped at the local gas station and picked up a 52-ounce Diet Coke.  And please, readers, spare me the tired and worn out cliches.  “Oh, I hate it when people get a large meal at the fast food place and then order a diet pop.  Yeah, like that’s going to help out after all that crap.”  If you’re one of those people, let me remind you that sometimes we tubbos actually enjoy the taste of diet pop.  Like anyone doesn’t know how bad fast food is?  Stop going all Atkins diet on me, you scrawny bastards, and let me enjoy my fatty foods and Diet pops.

Anyway, enough with the rant.

I didn’t want my sandwich getting cold and ran into the store like a harried mother leaving her child in the car.  Once I was inside and checking out, the clerk was literally giving away food.  I had a thousand calorie sandwich in the car with my name on it.  Regardless, I grabbed a free sandwich with a silent prayer that it wasn’t too far past the expiration date and hustled out to the whip.

When I unloaded the Doubledown, breathless with anticipation, I pulled out the sandwich and the first thing I noticed was its weight.  The Doubledown was roughly as dense as a shot put ball.  The 2nd thing I noticed was that the sandwich didn’t come standard with a defibrillator like I had expected.  Undaunted, I pulled it out of it’s box like Arthur removing the sword from the stone.  I immediately burned my fingers.  The good people of KFC apparently cook the mofo in molten lava.  The first bite was roughly the same temperature as the surface of the sun.  I kept eating, using the tried and true  combination of reverse-blowing and hammering down pop after each bite.

I used all 8 napkins that were provided by KFC.  I wiped my fingers on the bag.  I could’ve greased up Travolta’s hair for a crappy musical with nothing but my fingers.  I pounded through the entire thing and, contrary to my opinion, I didn’t immediately kick into cardiac arrest.  In truth, the sandwich wasn’t the legend that I had hoped for.  It was more Baconator than holy grail.  More “pretty solid” than the caloric kamikaze that I thought it would be.  I didn’t hibernate into a fatty-coma the moment I put the sandwich away from my lips, but it was a decent meal.

The KFC Doubledown: Just one more to cross off my “Bucket (of extra crispy)” list.

FIN

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Comments
  1. Middle Man says:

    Nice blog. I too have had “interesting” experiences at KFC in the UK – you can read about it here:

    http://caughtinthemiddleman.wordpress.com/2008/02/14/it-doesnt-taste-like-chicken/

  2. Sue Tolles says:

    we use to order a diet soda at Val’s, along with pizza, pasta, salad and garlic rolls.

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