COLUMN: Chicken and meeting a man named Carlos
“Food is essential to life; therefore, make it good.”
I’ll be honest; I stand in front of a long line of people who share the sentiment that an official-sounding quote could be the lamest way to ever start off an article. It just screams “I’m a writer, and I’m needy.”
This aside, the beautifully spoken words of S. Truett Cathy ring true to every body of life, and I’m sure even a few bodies of water.
The splendor that is sustenance is more than a stepping stone of survival, but also a booster seat to an indispensable realm of unspeakable joy. No wonder fast food is the staple of every main street, and the microwave is touted as one of the most influential discoveries in modern America. Through endless walks of life we search for the triumphant symbols of food that, if shown us in the right way, will bring us an endless and most fulfilling level of happiness – akin to finding the love of your life.
Call me crazy, but I think I found mine – and her name is Chick-Fil-A.
I was living in south Texas when I was first introduced to Chick-Fil-A at the young, spry age of 19. It wasn’t long before I discovered a taste I can only describe with the word “intergalactic.” My choice of words come to mind because a) I’m a Beastie Boys fan, and b) I’m positive there is no way they use ingredients from this earth to form something so insurmountably delicious.
This alone was why I was so thrilled to hear Chick-Fil-A was building a restaurant in Cache Valley. For months I awaited its arrival, being swooned by this stirring in my heart, and, as well-renowned philosopher Winnie the Pooh once penned, a “grumbly in my tumbly.”
I, of course, had experienced the wonder of Chick-Fil-A before, but there was something special about this one – something so pure and lovingly convincing I had to know for myself just how resoundingly lightly-battered chicken can change a life.
It was a snowy Saturday afternoon when Mike, my trusty culinary steed, and I walked into an incredibly crowded restaurant, assuming a less-than-speedy stay. We were greeted by a smiling employee who directed us to the fourth cash register marked by a pink balloon. Excited for, if nothing else, some slammin’ good chicken, I made my order and I took the routine four steps back to wait for my food to be ready. Before I even got my receipt my chicken, sewn together with golden crisped morsels of pure love, was already in my hands. Shocked by such speedy service, Mike and I made our way to a booth.
This was Mike’s first encounter with the eating establishment, which was well labeled by him exuberantly exclaiming “oh, my” at his first bite of the greatest chicken strips this side of the Pecos. The place was crowded but somehow seemed tranquil, not a crying child in sight, and to top it off we were greeted four times, by warm-hearted employees whose sole purpose was to ensure we were having a great experience. The last of these was an incredibly kind specimen by the name of Carlos, who walked toward us and ever-so gently asked, and I’m not kidding here, if he could “freshen my beverage.”
Freshen my beverage. Am I Bruce Wayne? This is amazing.
Taken aback by service not even found at the Four Seasons, I slowly nodded and was swiftly given a new cup of Dr. Pepper and friendly conversation.
Mike and I stayed there for an hour and a half, eating, chatting, laughing and eating some more. We didn’t want to leave. We literally giggled with euphoria on the drive home. It was so pleasant, so welcoming. Somehow a fast food chain felt like home. In one sit-down meal my heart morphed from my urban-raised self to a member of the lovable Tanner family from “Full House.” Somehow, in some miraculous way, breaded chicken and basket-cut fries made me feel loved.
You may wonder why I feel such a connection with a run-of-the-mill style eatery. In honesty, it’s mainly because I am really, really weird, but also because on a frost-ridden afternoon I learned there are still loving people out there, full of integrity and a simple mind set on you enjoying life as it is. Yes, those people do exist, even in the back-biting industry of fast food.
– steve.schwartzman@aggiemail.usu.edu