Well…at least it’s a link, right? I have to agree though that this blog is quite interesting. But I didn’t come here and take over a post’s worth of Amisha’s blog just to send you to the google translation of someone in some other country linking here in another language (The untranslated page is quite interesting to look at while completely not understanding it, by the way). I came here today to tell you this: If there is a moment in your life in which you are offered a decision between a plate of Amisha’s fried chicken and eternal salvation plus twenty bucks, don’t hesitate. Take the chicken.

We all know fried chicken is good. It doesn’t need any kind of P.R. There probably is a Fried Chicken Council of America toiling away to raise awareness of the industry but there doesn’t need to be. So when I talk about Amisha’s chicken being six or seven kinds of delicious you have to take the base value of fried chicken and multiply that times…..purple or something as yet untried by mathematics in order to reach the magnitude of goodness that this stuff contains. I grew up in a KFC family. My mom would fry chicken once in while, but we all agreed that without a backstory of secret herbs and spices or commission in the armed forces she wasn’t gonna beat the Colonel (Sanders was only a private in the army, though. He was made an honorary “Kentucky Colonel” by the governor of Kentucky. Then he just started calling himself “Colonel”. What the hell is that about? If I can just get enough people calling me King M@, in 100 years people will think I really was?) So my point is, I grew up not knowing what ‘Wessonality’ meant. I mean sure, I’ll admit it. I grew up thinking homemade food couldn’t possibly hold a candle to how great mass produced and processed fast food tasted. So I only knew in theory what they were talking about. I knew it meant chicken so good you had to call your doctor if it gave you an erection lasting more than 4 hours. It had Florence Henderson singing about it, so it was easy to imagine the wholesome and light taste dripping with flavor. I got it. But I never ate anything that made me think the word actually meant anything.

But last night I was eating chicken that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Damn. It was like…like maybe someone was the best fast food chicken fryer in the industry, right? And maybe the person stole, piece by piece, everything that they would need to replicate the great fast-food flavor. That’s what it was like, except maybe if the person who did that discovered that the fast food place was doing it wrong. That’s how good it was, middle America.

Take the chicken.