Notes on Fried Chicken

To the casual connoisseur of fast-food fried chicken, the Holy Grail is KFC: Col. Harland Sanders’ mix of 11 secret herbs and spices, gravy, and a side of fries.  Yet Chinatown cravings can get you out of your usual Fun Shot-induced stupor at an American-branded fast-food chain.  Off you go to the trains, the pedicabs, the walking tour of Ongpin’s side-streets to the tune of brass chimes, the sight of ba gua and jade charms glittering by the sidewalks, and the smell of siopao. When it comes to fried chicken, the virtue is Sincerity.

No sauces, no sidings (save for rice and a helping of oyster cake); just the joy of five-spice, batter, and yumminess.  I’m sure that it is served in the same way as its Peking predecessor: a pile of chicken on a plate, condiments not necessary.  It’s just sincere joy, from the hand to the mouth, from the stomach to the heart.  Washed down with a mouthful of iced tea, and you wonder why the place closes at 2 PM on a Sunday.

No more KFC for me, at least.  It’s a shame that they had to close Church’s Chicken at Mall of Asia.

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