Determined To Succeed

How many of you went to your 20-year high school reunion? Show of hands…anyone…anyone…Bueller…Bueller… Two years ago in August was my 20th anniversary of graduating high school and I didn’t go primarily because, one, it was expensive, and two, because of Facebook. Yes, that nifty little thing called Facebook connected me with so many wonderful people from those days I thought it would be unnecessary to attend.

Well, that was then and this is now.

Recently I learned that good ‘ol Kenwood Academy was hosting an all-class 40-year reunion today, actually held at the school. You know, just like in the movies. In “Superman III,” “Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion,” “Zack and Miri,” and so many more the heroes go back to their respective high schools and the wackiness ensued from there. I always secretly thought that was cool since I was nerdy enough to like certain aspects of my schooling particularly the bricks and mortar that made up my “homes away from home.”

So it was with (mild) reckless abandon that I quickly packed a bag and headed to Chicago today to attend tonight’s festivities. Another thing that is making me happy is the fact that the monies collected actually go to programs at the school, not some cheesy banquet hall, hotel or other facility (and it’s cheaper – God, I am getting old).

Now as you guys know, Chicago food hits you as soon as you get off the plane, but I was good and avoided the temptations of my sweet home Chicago Chicago-style hot dogs (and no offense intended toward my friends in and around Philly. Hot dogs, Italian Beef sandwiches, pizza and Chinese food is all different – and better – here, like when you guys get a cheesesteak from your favorite places). However, I didn’t avoid that temptation for long and had a couple, with everything, fries and (sigh) a Coke.

But it was goooooooooooood!

OK, with the craving for hot dogs out of my system I have to both go for a workout today AND avoid over-indulgence. The latter shouldn’t be too hard, although I do want to eat before I get to the reunion which is tonight because I need to avoid the sweet food temptations of my old neighborhood (Harold’s Chicken or Valois anyone?) as well as the foods being served at the reunion, itself. While I am sure the food will be good, I get in trouble with all-you-could-eat situations like that and want to avoid that if I can.

So where is the middle ground?

Middle ground (and I don’t know why but Middle Earth somehow came to my mind – my PRECIOUS!!!) comes in the form of egg rolls from my favorite place in the world right now for Chinese food. It’s on Michigan Avenue downtown called Sixty-Five Seafood and they have egg rolls, bbq pork noodles, kung pao chicken and pepper steak to die for. They are PRECIOUS!!!!

This means I will be swinging by there later today for a combination late lunch/grab some hometown egg rolls/stave off the other bad foods run. I am so looking forward to it. Then I will be off to the reunion.

I am feeling a bit goofy today. I feel younger. I think about so many things from those many long-put-away days from 1984 – 1988 especially food, when I ate whatever I wanted seemingly without consequence. I think about what I wanted to do in life. I think about where I’d thought I’d be…

…I think about my mom, JoAnn (and you can bet your bottom dollar I will be swinging by the park where I spread her ashes to say HI).

Most of all I think about time and how precious (no reference intended…this time) a gift it is. I may be slightly more than two decades removed from gym period, english class, history, driver’s ed, biology and (ick), trigonometry, but I nowe have a grasp on one thing I didn’t back then – myself and how I eat. I want to be around for a good, long time and losing the weight I did has dramatically helped me prolong my life. It helped me not goive into the self-fulling prophecies of obesity – poor quality of life, immobility and potential sudden medical “episodes” like strokes and heart attacks. It also helped me become more active so I can enjoy things I never could before – like even sitting on a plane, in the middle seat (it was what was available) and not have to worry if I’d be making people uncomfortable on either side, and dancing and bopping to my favorite 80s songs from time to time (I hope they play some tonight).

That is why I am no longer worried about food when I come home. Sure it’s better (it’s always better in your hometown) but nothing – NOTHING – is better than the taste of adding years and quality to your own life.

Now, bring on that reunion and let’s “Wang Chung” tonight, and I will tell Clark Kent, Romy and Michelle, Zack, Miri and Ferris you say HI.

When last you left your intrepid hero (OK, maybe I’m not a hero but a dumbass who was curious and hungry) I set off past the virtual plain and headed for the land of KFC to conquer the evil and vile “Double Down,” the latest in a new wave of icky ultimate “sandwiches” put forth by fast food purveyors for unsuspecting (or uncaring) consumers.

All I have to say was that I was willing to “take one for the team…”

…and boy did I. But before I get ahead of myself here’s what went down (or in this case “Double Down”)

Because I wanted to ask a few questions about the sandwich and who buys it from the KFC workers on duty (hehe, he said duty) I pulled up to my local KFC and went inside. I was worried it would be mobbed as it was only about 12:30 – prime lunch hour. But the restaurant itself was devoid of people and even the drive through had only one customer. So I stroll up to the counter where a very nice worker (not using her real name we will call her Sheila) asked me for my order.

• Me: Hi there. Have you tried the “Double Down?” And which one is better? Original Recipe or Grilled.
• Sheila: “Actually, would you believe I haven’t? Hey Gwen (again, not a real name)! You’ve tried the “Double Down,” right?
• Gwen: Yep. I tore it up the first day. I love it. (we all laugh at her enthusiasm and love of the “sandwich”)
• Sheila: “Which is better? Original or grilled?”
• Gwen: “Original, no doubt.”
• Me: OK, may I please have one Original Recipe “Double Down.” Do a lot of people order this thing?”
• Sheila: “You’d be surprised how many people order it. In fact, we ran out the other day and had to make more chicken. We had five cars lined up and parked outside waiting for it.”
• Me: “Really?! Wow. Do young people order it?”
• Sheila: “Everyone orders it. Young or old. It doesn’t matter. Everyone loves it.”
• Me: “Wow. OK. Thank you so much.”

So I get back into my car and drove home. I didn’t want to be in public in case my skin, tongue or stomach had an allergic reaction to the conglomeration of ick that is the “Double Down.” Plus I knew I had TUMS at the ready AND IN BULK.  I removed the “food item” from the bag and gingerly placed it on a plate, much like a weapons expert trying to diffuse a bomb. When I took it out of its box I looked at it for a bit. It looked nasty. I could see the “Colonel’s Sauce” oozing from in-between the boneless Original Recipe pieces of chicken. Even more curious (like a kid dissecting his first frog in high school biology) I peeled apart the top chicken breast to reveal the inner goo – the sauce, the piece of barely-melted cheese and bacon.

Now there’s an old axiom that states “there’s nothing that bacon, chocolate or frying can’t fix.” But this thing, even with two out of three, was beyond repair. I shook my head in disbelief and slowly placed the top chicken piece back on top and raised this abomination to my mouth. I opened wide and took a bite…

…yuk. The “Colonel’s Sauce” tastes to wretched, like Thousand Island dressing mixed in with mayonnaise. Really gooey mayonnaise. I had to gnaw on the bacon, which was not very crispy, to get it to bite off from the rest. The whole thing was just a mess. A big, greasy, nasty mess. Such a mess and so nasty in fact I didn’t (couldn’t) finish it. Not in that state anyway.

So I took out a knife and fork and separated the chicken from the inner goo and shoveled that mess (the cheese, sauce and bacon) away. When I tell you it will live forever in a landfill, and probably grow legs, I’m not exaggerating (well, not too much). With that gone I ate the piece of chicken that had the least amount of the remnants of the sauce, which made my hands smell like stale mayo – you know the smell I mean, right?

When I was done, I could almost immediately hear my stomach rumble its discontent. “I’m sorry,” I cry out as I felt it churning inside my body. “I threw the rest away” (which hurt because it was over $6 for that thing). I reached for a TUMS and took two – chewed them up and swallowed hoping it would take the ick away but it was too late. I felt cheap. I felt greasy. I needed a shower. And please make no mistake, that “creation” will never pass my lips again.

I honestly can’t believe that my local KFC is selling out of these things and that people are loving them. Sheila even told me some of her customers buy two of them. Yikes!!!

But I ate one so you didn’t have to, like the one in the movie who stays behind to give the others more time to escape. “No, you go on. Save yourselves. I’ll give you all the time I can.” Well, hopefully my $6 bought you the knowledge to never have one of those things. I know I say a splurge every now and then is good. But in this humble blogger’s opinion there are far better things on which to splurge – a Chicago-style hot dog, cheesesteak hoagie, egg roll from Sixty-Five Seafood on Michigan Avenue, pizza, someone’s right leg. Anything but that.

And there you have it. Oh, and just in case you thought I forgot the second part of the cliffhanger…the real reason behind the shift to KFC had nothing to do with healthy food or finicky consumers: it was about money — money that Kentucky Fried Chicken would have had to pay to continue using their original name. In 1990, the Commonwealth of Kentucky, mired in debt, took the unusual step of trademarking their name. Henceforth, anyone using the word “Kentucky” for business reasons — inside or outside of the state — would have to obtain permission and pay licensing fees to the Commonwealth of Kentucky. The venerable Kentucky Fried Chicken, a mainstay of American culture since its first franchise opened in Salt Lake City in 1952, refused as a matter of principle to pay royalties on a name they had been using for four decades. After a year of fruitless negotiations with the Kentucky state government, Kentucky Fried Chicken – unwilling to submit to “such a terrible injustice” – threw in the towel and changed the name instead, timing the announcement to coincide with the introduction of new packaging and products to obscure the real reason behind the altering of their corporate name. In November 2006, KFC and the State of Kentucky, finally reached an undisclosed settlement over use of the trademarked word “Kentucky,” and the restaurant chain announced it would be resuming its former name of “Kentucky Fried Chicken.”