Love That Chicken

Cindy's buddies on the Navy Band Recreation Committee always put on a great picnic every year. Last year they had an outstanding shrimp boil with literally mounds of shrimp on every table. One year they advertised a combination Sausage Fest and Petting Zoo. (Yes, they did have a few animals penned up. But how they managed to have "sausage" and "petting" in the same sentence and have nobody written up still amazes me.)

But at yesterday's picnic the featured food was Popeyes Chicken. That's right, Popeyes. Mild and spicy. Red beans and rice, mashed potatoes and biscuits. Oh, those biscuits. Aw yeah....

"That's it?" Cindy said. "Just Popeyes Chicken?"

"And sides," I pointed out.

"No vegetables?"

"It's Popeyes Chicken! Who needs asparagus and carrots???"

And it was superb. I salute the Rec. Committee. Love that chicken. Love that cholesterol.

On the way back home, Cindy could see that I was miserably in Popeye's heaven.

"You're gonna be hurting later from all that chicken," she said.

"Sometimes," I said, putting a hand to my stomach, "you have to make sacrifices for culinary greatness."

As the old commercials used to say, "This is some serious chicken." Amen, brother.