Where to start? Well, I should probably start by telling you that I absolutely adore chicken. That’s just normal chicken as well - chicken burgers, chicken fajitas, chicken casserole, chicken stir fry, chicken chow mein, chicken dippers, chicken Caesar salad, chicken on a BBQ…I could literally list a THOUSAND chicken products I like, because I LOVE CHICKEN. But wait! You rub that secret blend of 11 herbs and spices on that glorious chicken, and OH MANNNN!! I can’t even describe it. On top of this, I always go on to everyone I know about how nice Dorking KFC is, because DAMN did I love it.
But then came the fateful day of Saturday 18 January 2014.
Let me start by saying I had a very casual Friday night, involving quite a large amount of wine. I woke up with a bit of a horrible headache, so I went downstairs to get some water, and my boyfriend made us some bacon. Everything was fine, but the grill was broken, so we had to fry the bacon, which frankly isn’t as good. (If it ain’t fried chicken, what’s the point? That’s my motto.) Anyway, so we are lounging around watching TV and our friend (and his housemate) knocks on the door and says, “Hey, guys. I’m going to KFC, do you guys want anything?”
I couldn’t believe my luck. (Literally. I cannot ever resist KFC. I walk past when I’m not even hungry, smell it, and suddenly there I am, standing a few metres down the road, eating a Toasted Twister like it’s the most normal thing in the world. It’s a disease. I HAVE A CHICKEN DISEASE.) Naturally, I shouted, “YES PLEASE. PLEASE MAY I HAVE A TWO PIECE ORIGINAL RECIPE MEAL WITH PEPSI AND GRAVY?” (That’s the main thing I order. Unless it’s dinner, in which case I go large and have a three piece.) My boyfriend ordered a Wicked Zinger Tower Burger (also a fantastic choice).
You should have seen our faces when we heard the door slam. We were like a couple of kids at Christmas, when they go downstairs and see that glass of whiskey and mince pie have been devoured, and the carrot for Rudolph has had a bite out of it. On top of this, I was really excited to have a Pepsi. I don’t even LIKE Pepsi, but I always LOVE it from KFC! There must be something about those happy fried chicken fumes that makes it so refreshing and wonderful.
Anyway, we heard a key in the door, wide eyed and bushy tailed, we looked at each other…it was probably similar to (again) that look children have on Christmas when they see that Father Christmas has been, and they have an abundance of presents underneath their happy Christmas tree. I heard my friend bounding up the stairs…it was here!
My friend said, “Oh, by the way, one of you has Hannah’s hot wings.” I was like, “OK, cool; it’s probably me”, and thought I would check immediately. I took a moment to be mildly alarmed by the fact that both my chicken and chips were stuffed into one very small bag…but, no biggie, I thought, as I poured the goods on to my plate. I couldn’t see any hot wings, so informed Hannah of this. Then it occurred to me…my boyfriend had a burger, in a burger-size box (as one would expect). If he didn’t have Hannah’s hot wings, and I didn’t have Hannah’s hot wings…WHO DID?! My heart started to race as I had a flashback to the time I mistakenly received beans rather than gravy in an order, approximately 18 months previous. I had blocked it out, but suddenly the feeling of betrayal again felt so fresh and raw.
My palpitations quickly subsided and I was struck down by pure fear as I remembered the gravy. In my experience, Dorking KFC sell THE best gravy in ALL of the land. I’m not ashamed to admit that I have drunk the gravy straight on several occasions. If I don’t get gravy, hell, I don’t even want chips, because they aren’t worth it by themselves. My palms became clammy, and a small bead of perspiration trickled across my forehead as I gingerly gripped the warm side dish pot. I closed my eyes briefly to mentally prepare myself for what was to come.
OH, THE HORRORS!! I have LITERALLY never seen gravy like it. It just wasn’t gravy. Excuse my crudeness, but it did genuinely look like blended faeces, with a large quantity of petite-grain black sand inside it – you know, like the volcanic sand you get in Tenerife. I was mortified. Immediately, I turned to my boyfriend with a tear in my eye, holding out the gravy pot. Let me tell you, he was so brutally offended by the sight he saw that day, that he was forced to recoil. I grabbed my phone in a rage and texted Hannah, asking how her meal was. Her reply was simply, “They forgot my hot wings! :(“ to which I sent her a picture of my gravy and said, “LOOK AT THIS!” (If you would like photographic evidence of how appalling the gravy was, I would be more than happy to forward it to you, because seriously…not cool.) We were completely unhappy.
Trying to be positive, I sighed and made a start on my two piece meal. CRIKEY, I think I might have done something foolish and irrational had the secret blend of 11 herbs and spices not played their ever beautiful part in the opera of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Don’t ask me what that foolish and irrational thing I would have done, as I LITERALLY have NO IDEA. Anyway, the chicken was incredibly fatty and very dry, which was utterly disappointing. I didn’t even touch the gravy, I just closed its open casket and said my goodbyes.
The chips…OH, THE CHIPS. What have you done, KFC?? Your chips were perfect before, and then I think you changed the recipe, and then made them thinner. This is a perfect example of the proverb, ‘two wrongs don’t make a right’. I was already annoyed that I didn’t have any gravy, and that they had been kept in a tiny bag with my poor measly pieces of chicken, but they tasted almost stale! I don’t know who was cooking in KFC that day, but let me ask you – who deals with quality control? There was no quality control at lunch time on 18 January 2014, KFC. None at all. To make matters worse, my friend’s Zinger Tower Burger had no tower.
This feeling, in terms of the Christmas similes I’ve used twofold so far in my complaint, is what I could only describe as children coming downstairs on Christmas morning, seeing the whiskey, mince pie and carrot gone and feeling initially excited, only to discover Father Christmas drunk on the floor, having eaten ALL of their presents, and their sofa. Then, when Father Christmas awakes from his inebriated slumber, Father Christmas strikes the children with one of those really thick, heavy rocking chairs, completely knocking them out.
I love(d) KFC, but now I just feel cheated. I hadn’t been to KFC for a while, and then when I finally come back, there is lipstick on his collar and he smells of D&G Light Blue. This complaint is the part where I throw my most dangerous heels at KFC whilst crying tears of both anger and despair, trying to get close enough to him to bludgeon him with my heavy duty hairdryer. Now, I am in limbo. KFC is the only lovely fast food chain in Dorking, bar Domino’s. (Everyone knows Subway is for people who don’t understand what a really good sandwich is like.) I could just keep ordering Domino’s, which does have the bonus of delivery, but isn’t as good in any way, shape or form. Or, I could travel afar to a McDonald’s or Burger King.
I guess what I’m really asking here, KFC, is…should I stay or should I go?
Now, I’m not one to let one bad experience ruin my view of anything, but this experience was SO bad it has really blinkered my view of you. I have had some pretty rubbish KFC meals over the years – I’d say at an absolute maximum 1 out of 4 wasn’t up to the regular high standard – but I could deal with those, because next time, it would be amazing. This is bearing in mind the quantity of KFC I’ve eaten over the years is probably enough to send a class full of 9 year olds into irreversible comas. I have eaten so much chicken from KFC that I think that, somewhere in my body, there are some chicken genes.
How do I know you won’t do it again? I will be constantly paranoid that every time I walk through the gateway to heaven, that behind that big glass door is purgatory, or even hell. I’m going to need some kind of assurance here; perhaps some vouchers, so that even if my meal isn’t up to standard, I haven’t wasted my own hard-earned cash on an unsatisfactory meal. Please do bear in mind that you do not have one, but FOUR unsatisfied customers. (Well, actually three. My boyfriend enjoyed his meal, but he is intensely disappointed on our behalf.)
To be honest, KFC, I am open to suggestion. Writing this has really let me get my feelings out, so I might actually be ready to forgive you, if you try your best to make me stay. I know that’s what you want – you made a mistake. I look forward to your reply.
Remember – two wrongs don’t make a right.
Love, Danielle xxx
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