Like Snickers, Guaranteed to Satisfy

One night, after a particularly unsatisfying meal of beans and rice, feeling a little bored and a little hungry, I texted my friend Katie B. and asked, “So, tell me, what is it like to eat a chicken biscuit?”

I should take a moment to point out that Katie is slightly obsessed with Chick-Fil-A’s chicken biscuits.  She has talked about them enough that, even though I have never eaten one, I too am now slightly obsessed.*  I get intense cravings for them.  “How much would you pay for a chicken biscuit right now” is a common game, and I regularly offer up hundreds of dollars.  I have a Chick-Fil-A business card hanging on my wall and I have never even entered one of their very fine (I'm sure...) establishments.

And so on that fateful, boring, hunger-filled night, I asked Katie what I thought was an innocuous, albeit silly, question.  The response I got was neither innocuous nor silly (um, maybe a little silly):

“Order chicken biscuit (that’ll be $1.99).  Even though it is breakfast, you should probably get a coke with it.  Ideal combination of flavors.  Unwrap biscuit from tin foil.  Pause to wallow in the delicious aroma.  Observe the golden flakiness of the biscuit.  See how the succulent, deep-fried chicken patty peeks around the edges.  Take an anticipatory sip of Coke. Praise Gawd.  Take your first bite.  A big bite.  Feel the biscuit crumble, buttery, and the chicken, salty.  They combine, perfect notes of flavor playing on your palette.  The salt from the tears of joy you are spontaneously weeping add to reach a perfect heart-stopping sodium level.  At the center of the biscuit, the ratio of crunchiness, softness, and juiciness becomes overwhelming.  You pass out. 

After you are revived (someone threw a coke on your face), you complete your chicken biscuit voyage.  You say, Katie, you were right, I could never eat just one.  You order another.  You notice they sell hash browns.  You order one of those too.  The hash browns change everything.  Your second chicken biscuit, hot on the heels of the first, is even better.  You understand why Chick-Fil-A is closed on Sundays. That biscuit made you believe in God.”

Needless to say, I went to bed a little bit hungrier, and even more unsatisfied with eating beans and rice day after day.

*When I first wrote this blog, I had never tried a chicken biscuit.  Upon my return to America, I made my way to a Chick-Fil-A and enjoyed my first one.  It was even better than Katie had made it out to be.