If you can't stand the heat -- get in the kitchen. Tonight, Thursday, June 13, at 6 p.m. at the Lounge at Crescent Ballroom, Chow Bella writers are warming up for summer with "Fried," an evening of true stories. Admission is free; food and drink will be available for sale.
And now, Eric Schaefer's ode to KFC, in haiku.
Thank you Bluegrass State For birthing Colonel Sanders. KFC, my muse.
(Keep going. There's more)
See also: - Don & Charlie's: Eric Schaefer's Comfort Food
My guilty pleasure. I want to run for cover Shameful, embarrassed.
Golden brown, crispy. You entice me like a drug. Salty, delicious.
Eating it alone, In my pajamas I gorge, Thankful for drive-thru.
My p.j.'s covered In crumbs, grease, and some coleslaw. Mashed potatoes, too.
Solo late-night run. I eat alone, in my car. The night cloaks my shame.
Forgo the white meat. Chicken thighs are heaven-sent. Healthy? Kiss my ass.
Wings, extra-crispy. This chicken never could fly. Higher calling, now.
I've lost my street cred With the foodie elitists. This is who I am.
If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters.
SHOW ME HOW
You have successfully signed up for your selected newsletter(s) - please keep an eye on your mailbox, we're movin' in!
Red and white bucket My lifespan is now cut short Arteries closing.
Grilled, roasted, or baked A complete waste of my time. Chicken should be fried.
Bloated from the salt, Call my cardiologist KFC, worth it.