“That will be $19.67 sir.”
Those were the words uttered to me Friday evening by a very tired-looking teenage boy standing behind the counter at my local Popeyes Kitchen location. I assume the total inspired a look of pure and painful befuddlement on my big mug — this conclusion is based on the reaction of the cashier to my own reaction.
Let me be transparent by saying: dropping $20 at Popeyes isn’t anything out of the ordinary, especially when you order the mixed chicken deal. But that is not what I ordered Friday night.
I simply ordered a new “Spicy Chicken Sandwich” combo with lemonade. Or at least that is what I thought I had ordered. The cashier, though, believed I had ordered three new “Spicy Chicken Sandwich” combos.
My first thought was, no way I ordered three combos of the hottest fast food fad since the “McGriddle” or the “Baconater” or KFC’s “Double Down.” But then I quickly began to question myself. Had I gotten so addicted to the new “Spicy Chicken Sandwich” that I had actually ordered three of them?
The answer shook me to my core — maybe?
The hype surrounding the sandwich has been escalating for nearly two weeks, and yours truly — a cynical hater of all fad-like things (“American Idol,” any reality TV show on TLC, etc.) — I was skeptical of just how tasty Popeye’s new sandwich was.
I mean Popeyes knows chicken better than anyone, and this restaurant chain which was founded in New Orleans has already gifted us an all-you-can-eat buffet of said chicken, and delicious sides (the macaroni and cheese is next level) but a chicken sandwich?
No way, I thought, despite what all the memes on social media stated.
The distinction of best chicken sandwich belonged (notice the past tense) to Chick-fil-A and the classic sandwich which consists of a bun, pickles and a piece of fried chicken. Simple, straightforward and damn tasty.
On my lunch break earlier this week, that all changed when I went through the drive-thru at Popeyes. I ordered the buzzed-about item and before I knew it I had devoured the whole thing.
Honestly, I might have burned my esophagus with the speed I shoveled the sandwich into my mouth.
With euphoria racing through my veins, I texted photos of the sandwich to my friends and my wife. The greatest chicken sandwich of all time had been created and we had been blessed with it.
My wife was intrigued as well, so a few days later I ordered two more of the sandwiches — but when I brought them home two issues arose.
I forgot to order my wife the spicy version (my Cajun-born and bred bride is not wasting her time on regular flavors) and the cooks forgot to add the pickles.
So Friday evening I brought home the spicy version for my bride, and yes it had pickles, and my wife concurred with my conclusion of the sandwich’s pure awesomeness.
Of course, I won’t be ordering any more of the best chicken sandwiches ever created. Why you ask? Because I had another thought after leaving Popeyes on Friday.
Maybe I didn’t actually say that I wanted three sandwiches. Maybe the cashier just assumed I wanted three because of the frequency of my recent pilgrimages to the fast food restaurant — or by my expanded waist line from said visits.
Either way, it is time for me to head back to Chick-fil-A and promptly place my order of one of those grilled chicken salad things I have always heard skinny people discuss.
I have only heard of it said menu item of course, because who in the hell orders a salad when you can eat delicious chicken sandwiches?
I guess this guy, from now on.