I’ll admit, this was not my first try of the Popeyes infamous(?) chicken sandwich. A coworker had one delivered to me, but it took 90 minutes to get from his phone to my belly, so I decided to go straight to the source.

It’s Friday. I’ve been dealing with a case of the ole “sad brains” for the past week or two and I had the day off. What was I to do? That’s right. Stay in my bed until 1:45pm, scrolling through the internet until my brain and thumbs go numb.

Numbness kicked in along with it came hunger. I had spoken with a friend earlier in the week about the Popeyes Chicken Sandwich. He said it was near life changing. I found this hard to believe, as the only time I had ever had it, it traveled across town in I’m guessing a well air conditioned Hyundai Elantra, leaving me with a chilled, soggy, chicken sandwich. Remembering this conversation, and believing in second chances, I rolled out of bed, put on real pants and headed to the nearest Popeyes.

Some might say I’m lucky as I only live 1.25 miles from a Popeyes. Let me tell you, it kinda sucks. Often times on my way home I would find myself stuck in traffic for way too long, and it was all due to this particular Popeyes drive-thru line. It made me unbelievably upset, and is the main reason it took me so long to finally try this sandwich. Whew. I sure am glad I got that off my chest.

So, I’m driving, I make the (legal) U-turn so that I can enter the Popeyes parking lot and then their drive-thru (now I understand why traffic was such an issue – still, I’m not over it). That was painless enough, and it was nice to see the car in front of me had the exact same idea. I don’t know what his order was, but it came in a smaller bag than mince. The line moved fairly quickly, but not too quickly. I had time to read a sketch a friend of mine had written while I waited to pull forward. It was a good way to pass the time, and I’m thankful she sent it to me. Reading is done and I’m the next in line to place my order. This seems to take longer than the rest of the wait, but I’m pretty sure it’s only because I had nothing else entertaining to read.

Ah. Finally. “Welcome to Popeyes, what can I get you?”

“Oh, hi. Uh, could I get Spicy Chicken sandwich combo?”

“Side and drink?”

“Fries and Dr. Pepper”

“…that’s a Spicy Chicken sandwich combo with fries and a Dr. Pepper, anything else?”

“Yeah could I also get a Regular Chicken Sandwich, like, just the sandwich?”

“That’s a Spicy sandwich, fries, Dr. Pepper, and regular sandwich. $12.83, please pull up”

I pull up to the window. He repeats my total to me, I hand him my card. He hands me my drink and I place it in the cupholder my 2007 Toyota Highlander provides me. I look back towards the window and he is handing me my card. Before I can get it back in my wallet, there’s my order, in his hands waiting to be placed in mine. He tells me to have a nice day, and I wish him the same. I’m headed back home.

I get home and plop down on the couch. I pull out the first sandwich (regular)) and place it on the coffee table in front of me. Then the second (spicy) sandwich next to it. I dig out the fries and place them in between the two sandwiches. My Dr. Pepper sits closely behind the Regular Chicken sandwich. I pull out my phone and send this picture to my friend.

He replies quickly, “Awwwwww shiiiit!!!!” followed by “I am salivating just looking at that”. (Joe I hope it’s ok I quoted you)

I start with the Spicy Chicken sandwich. Ok, I lie, I ate three fries that were at the bottom of the bag before anything. So, I bite into the sandwich and the first thing I notice is the crunchiness of the chicken. Something I missed out on during my first experience two weeks ago. I was into it. I kept taking bites, chewing, and swallowing. I get about a 1/4 of the way through when I finally start to notice the heat from the spicy mayonnaise based sauce they put on it. It’s tingly at first. Subtle and enjoyable, I could get into this. I take a couple more bites and the heat intensifies. I put it down and douse the heat with a few sips of Dr. Pepper and some fries. I take one more bite of the Spicy Chicken sandwich before calling it quits, making it about halfway through. It wasn’t the heat that turned me away, but my stomach was starting to get full and I knew I needed to taste and enjoy the Regular Chicken sandwich.

Enjoy…I guess I did that. I really, truly appreciate the crunchy crispiness of this chicken, something many other fast food chicken sandwiches lack. The pickles were thick cut and had plenty of that pickle flavor, but it didn’t overpower the sandwich at all. The one thing I didn’t like was the mayonnaise on it. When I want a “southern fried chicken sandwich”, I want and expect just a buttered bun, fried chicken, and pickles. That’s all ya need. I’m a fan of mayonnaise, don’t get me wrong. But the chicken was not only crunchy on the outside, but it was super moist on the inside. Mayo was an overkill. I really shouldn’t be worrying so much about the fucking mayonnaise. It was a good sandwich. I don’t know why I’m trying to act as if I wasn’t impressed by it. The first thing out of my mouth after I took the first bite was an audible “Jesus” to my dog who was asleep next to me this entire time. He did not budge.

I also leave this sandwich only half finished because my stomach was at capacity. I finish the fries and Dr. Pepper and walk upstairs to write this blog entry, my first in over a year.

No one ever wants to spend their Saturday morning hitching a trailer to the back of an SUV, then helping their roommate navigate a car onto said trailer, then riding with them to a place you’ve never been. But when someone agrees to share a living space with you, you’ve gotta make sacrifices.

As we’re driving to our destination (I have no idea what part of town we were in, but it was the backyard of one of my roommate’s friends) I mention how hungry I am and my roommate just replies “me too”, takes a hit of his Juul, and keeps staring at the road ahead of us. I was getting anxious. I didn’t know where we were going, what we were doing, I was hungry, and running low on cigarettes.

We arrive in an odd suburb of a still unknown location. I’ve lived in Richmond my entire life, but had no idea where we were. It was overcast. There was a slight chill in the air when we got out of the SUV. I lit a cigarette while my friend did something on his phone, which turned out to be texting his friend that we had arrived. An adorable pit bull runs up to me, sniffs me, smells the cigarette smoke, and walks away. I get it, it’s a nasty habit. Sorry dog. Following the dog is a taller man, with dark, messy hair. Bags under his eyes. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed. He sparks a cigarette as he says “what’s up” to my roommate. My roommate acknowledges him with hit from his Juul. “What a strange interaction” I think to myself. “Where’s the dog?” I say to myself, walking in circles because I don’t know what else to do. The two talk about cars and stuff (now I’m starting to understand why we’re here. They take the trailer off of the SUV, I’m making eye contact with the dog. Someone else comes out of the house and the dog runs to them.

My roommate and his friend finish up talking about the car. I find out the man is going to do some welding for my roommate. We get in the SUV and head back to familiar territory. My roommate turns to me and says “are you still hungry?” No shit, man. I’m starving. I say “yeah, very” and he tells me he will treat me to lunch for helping him in the morning. I’m stoked, but all I can think about is McDonald’s. I tell him that and he says something like “I’m treating you to lunch and all you want is McDonald’s?” I was starving. I don’t know. We agree that we’ll drive around until I see something I like. I realize at this point we’re in Mechanicsville, and have been for at least an hour. We pass a dozen fast food places, but I’m trying to avoid them, even though there is a Cookout AND a Taco Bell right next to each other. Across the street though is where my roommate was looking. Red Lobster, Olive Garden, the empty shell of what used to be a Steak n Shake (RIP), and I think even a Cracker Barrel. I jokingly suggest we go to Red Lobster. He agrees, but as we’re pulling in, he says “how do you feel about Olive Garden?” I tell him I love it, and we agree that’s where we will dine.

We park the SUV and walk into the restaurant. Two dudes that probably smell dressed in dirty black jeans and T-shirts, mine lacking sleeves, in a sea of family members congregating dressed in their Sunday best after a morning of worship. The hosts looks at us, almost with relief, and asks “How many?” in unison, my roommate and I reply “two”. “Right this way” we’re told, and we follow the young lady to a booth large enough for a party of 4, but just right for a table of two smelly dudes.

About 45 seconds after we were sat, a wonderfully cheerful young lady greeted us as if we’d met before. Maybe we had, maybe we hadn’t. She told us her name was Lashay and she would be taking care of us that afternoon. We chose to remain anonymous, responded to her question as to what we would like to drink, and thanked her. She walked away, but I knew we would see her again.

Now it’s time to get serious about what I want to eat, play time is over and I am starving. The first thing I notice, as usual, is the “Limited Time Offer”. At the time, their offering was UNLIMITED STUFFED PASTA. HOLY. SHIT. All you can eat mix and match STUFFED pasta, for $12.99. My eyes lit up, but I knew they were also bigger than my stomach at this point. I kept looking through the menu, but I knew deep down, that stuffed pasta would find it’s way inside me. I called it. Lashay was walking back to us with beverages and a partner this time.

The partner was weighed down by a large salad bowl and a basket of hot breadsticks and couldn’t be bothered introducing himself. That’s fine, I didn’t feel the same connection as I had with Lashay, anyway. The partner set the salad and hot bread on the table, smiled and nodded, and walked away. Lashay set our drinks down and pulls out the cheese grater for our salad. She tells us to let her know when to stop, I respond “stop when you start to feel uncomfortable”. She calls my bluff, after about 20 seconds I tell her that’s good. She laughs and asked if we were ready to order. I smiled nervously and said “I’m going to need a few more minutes, I’m sorry”. She snickered, said “that’s fine”, and walked away.

As I’m looking through the menu, I’m noticing some menu items have drink pairings next to them. Fancy, right? I mean, in certain places, yeah, I can see how a wine pairing list would come in handy…but like…Olive Garden takes it to the next level. Sure, they tell you which wine to get with your pasta, but they really kick it up a notch. Like, if you’re not sure what goes well with Calamari, they’ll tell you right there on the menu that a Long Island Iced Tea is the way to go. Or if fried squid isn’t your thing, I bet you never thought a Spiked Strawberry Lemonade would wash down Fried Mozzarella in way you’d never imagine.

I stuck with Coca-Cola.

It’s time to get serious, what am I going to order to eat? I can’t fill up on salad and breadsticks. I’m in the “Stuffed Pasta” section, my mouth is watering at all the choices. Cheese Ravioli with my choice or marinara or meat sauce! Manicotti with the same two sauce options! I was drooling. Then I saw it, almost isolated from the other stuffed pastas. What was this…what was this dish?! It was exactly what I had been looking for. A pasta, that was stuffed with protein instead of just cheese, and covered in a cream based sauce instead of a tomato based one. Could it be real? It was.

Creamy. Mushroom. Ravioli.

I couldn’t wait for Lashay to come back so I could share with her my excitement. Almost as soon as I had made my decision, there she was. I was truly starting to believe Lashay and I had a real connection. My roommate orders first because he knew I wanted to hold onto the excitement just a little bit longer. I can’t remember what he ordered. SORRY! It was my turn, Lashay turned to me with a smile and I told her my choice. With a voice of agreement, she replies back “Creamy Mushroom Ravioli?” I nod, she let’s me know it was a good decision, and goes to place our order with the kitchen.

At this point, our menus had been taken away. I was tired of looking at Instagram on my phone within seconds, so I needed something to do. The tablet that comes standard on all Olive Garden dining tables now was out of commission, despite Lashay trying to help us with it earlier. Then I see it, something we always forget about. The little menu that only contains the drink menu and the dessert menu. I’m not one to typically get desserts, but I always look. This one contains items you might assume. Tiramisu, cheesecake, a cinnamon apple dessert for the Americans that need to be reminded they’re still American after eating pasta, and even a Black Tie Mousse Cake. They do all sound delicious, I won’t argue that. But those people, whoever they are, in the Olive Garden dessert kitchen deserve an award for what I’m about to tell you about. Ok. Get this.

Chocolate. Brownie. Lasagna.

Holy moly. “Eight decadent layers of rich, fudgy brownie and sweet vanilla cream cheese frosting, topped with chocolate shavings and a chocolate drizzle” is how it’s described on their official menu online. I told myself, and my roommate I wasn’t going to eat all of my mushroom stuffed pasta so I could save room for this monster. He looked at me like I was crazy. He was right.

Finally! Lashay comes to see us again, hands filled with our entrees this time. I was pumped. She sets my roommates order down first (I’m sorry, I still can’t remember his order), and then she sets my ravioli down. The smell of the mushrooms immediately fill my nose and I go into a state of near Nirvana. I’m brought back to Earth when we’re asked if we needed anything. We politely say “no, thanks”. Lashay walks away and let’s us dine.

I take my first bite, and I don’t know if I was just starving or it was actually really delicious, but, that ravioli was the best thing I had ever had from Olive Garden. I keep shoveling the pasta into my face, taking only small breaks to consume soda, or rip off a piece of breadstick so I can dip it in the sauce. All of a sudden I can’t go any further. I’ve eaten 3 of the 6 raviolis. There was no way I could eat anymore, and I knew I had to pass on the Brownie Lasagna. I felt defeated. I knew it was for the best, though.

Lashay visits us again, and she can tell I was worn out. She asked if I needed a box, and I moaned “yes please”. She takes my roommates plate and asks jokingly if we had saved room for dessert. My roommate replies back with a slight laugh that we in fact had not saved room for dessert. Quickly, Lashay disappears and returns with a box and the check. My roommate hands her his card (debit? credit? I don’t know, does it matter?) and Lashay is off.

I thank my roommate for lunch and can’t tell him how stoked I am to take a nap when we get home, especially knowing that when I wake up, I will have ravioli in the refrigerator. Lashay returns with my roommates approved method of payment and wishes us a good rest of the day. We tell her we wish the same, roommate tips accordingly, I’m sure, signs the check, and we’re out of the door.

Milk. It’s come a long way since I was a kid. We know the standards. Whole, skim, 2%, chocolate, and even Soy. Sometimes you’ll find strawberry. Heck I’ve even seen orange creamsicle.

I guess a few years ago the nut business wasn’t doing as well as it had been in the past, so they decided to grind up everyone’s favorite nuts with some water then strain that, and it would be sold as “milk”. I’m into it. Very into it. Chocolate almond milk is one of my favorite drinks and regular almond milk made me start eating cereal again.

“Why the hell are you talking about milk, Tom?” is probably what you’re thinking to yourself right now, and the reason is because of a recent discovery I made with a friend of mine. See, a few weeks ago I got a text message asking about an invention like the spork, but more recent. You know, one of those inventions we didn’t really need, but since this is America and we can do whatever the fuck we want, we combine two perfectly good individual items and sell it. I suggested the hard shell tacos with the flat bottoms so they can stand up on their own. Then a couple minutes later I remembered the straws that were made of cereal (I think really only Froot Loops) to entice children to get their calcium the good ole fashion way. I searched for about 2 minutes before I discovered they had been discontinued years ago, and not even Amazon sold them. BUT! My search wasn’t a complete bust. What I found were “Milk Magic Straws”.

“What’s a Magic Milk Straw?”. I’m glad you asked. Some genius in Hungary had the idea to put tiny little flavored pellets in the center of a straw to flavor your milk. I was intrigued. And stoned.

I suggested to my friend that if I order them, and she buys the milk, we should test these puppies out. She agreed and even took it one step further. “Why don’t we try them with different flavored milks?” she proposed. I agreed, and two days later there were Magic Milk Straws on my door step.

We met at her place a couple days after that, smoked a bowl, and got down to business. She told me about the varieties of milk she got for out experiment; skim (dairy), Chocolate Cashew Almond Milk, and Banana Almond Milk. She gave me a sample of the Banana Almond Milk since she had not stopped talking about it since her discovery about it a couple months ago, and I had yet to try it. It was good. It could have been sweeter, but I still gulped it down.

We tried the other two milks as a control. As you probably know, skim was gross, Chocolate Cashew Almond was awesome, and I’ve already told you about the Banana Almond.

First up was the Vanilla Milkshake Magic Milk straw. I didn’t think it was possible to make skim milk taste worse, but somehow the milk straw did just that. It just tasted like “sugar milk” and I wanted to end the experiment then and there, but we continued on. Remember how I said the Banana Almond milk could have been a little sweeter? HOLY CRAP. My eyes lit up and I exclaimed “THAT’S WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR!” The vanilla straw made it taste just like a god damn banana milkshake. It was the only combination to score a perfect “10” on my score card (that’s right, we made score cards). When paired with the Chocolate Cashew Almond, it pretty much just tasted like the milk leftover after eating a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. It did it’s job.

After the Vanilla Milkshake straw, we rinsed the cups and refilled. Next up: Strawberry. I remember loving Strawberry Nesquik in middle school. I was excited to see if I could relive that memory. Skim was up first again. At this point, I was starting to think nothing could make skim milk taste good (spoiler alert, I was right). We quickly moved on to the Banana Almond milk. You’re familiar with Dippin’ Dots, right? Specifically the Banana Split ones? This was a liquid form of that. I’m not the biggest fan of Dippin’ Dots, but this was a flavor combination I could get behind. Unfortunately, the chocolate flavor of the Cashew Almond milk overpowered the strawberry, and it pretty much just tasted like chocolate nut milk.

Rinse and repeat.

Next, we busted out the chocolate straws. This time, it might have maybe helped the skim milk. Nope. The straw made it taste like one of those Carnation Instant Breakfast drinks.I started to feel bad for the skim milk, but there was nothing that could be done. I was most excited to try this straw with the Banana Almond milk, but ended up being a little disappointed by it. It was good, but it didn’t taste like one of those chocolate covered bananas you can get in the freezer section at some grocery stores (Trader Joe’s I think? If you find them, buy a box and we can enjoy them together. Maybe tell each other some stories. Hm. Wouldn’t that be nice). Then, to my surprise, the straw didn’t make the Chocolate Cashew Almond milk taste any more chocolatey. It became obvious the flavor of the chocolate in the Cashew Almond milk was just too powerful for any other flavor.

It was getting late. We were getting full of milk but we weren’t going to let that stop us. We only had one Magic Milk Straw to try. Cookies n Cream. My least favorite flavor combination. I like Oreos, don’t get me wrong, but anything else “cookies n cream” flavor can kick rocks. Don’t like it? GET OUT. Just kidding. Please stay, and sorry for getting so heated back there. But really, the straw didn’t affect the flavors of any of the milks. Maybe skim, a little, but banana and chocolate pretty much tasted the same.

That’s when my partner said “Wait a minute!” I waited. “Isn’t this one probably just half vanilla and half chocolate?” Those jerks ripped us off! But it made sense. The vanilla really had only made everything sweeter, while the chocolate dulled everything else. No wonder. It just neutralized any other flavor. Color me unimpressed.

After the testing we decided to do a *BONUS ROUND* where we mixed the Banana Almond milk with the Chocolate Cashew Almond milk and of course tried all the straws with it. I didn’t take notes for that, so you’ll just have to imagine what it was like. Then we got bad we cut open the vanilla and the strawberry straws (even though the package strictly forbids it. Screw ’em. We’re adults.

We tasted the beads, they were interesting. A lot harder than you’d think. Sugary, of course. Then we did exactly what you’re thinking right now. We combined the vanilla and the strawberry beads. Again, I didn’t take notes on it, so you’ll just have to use that beautiful brain of yours to imagine what it was like. I remember it being pretty good. Run with that and see where you get.

It was time to clean up. We put the milk in the refrigerator after realizing it had been out for at least two hours. Whoops. It’ll be ok. Nuts are always served at room temperature, and the rest of the skim milk was going down the drain anyway. We said our goodbyes, and I was out the door. I went to Taco Bell and headed home.

What a way to spend a Monday night.

If you or someone you know is curious about flavoring milk, please don’t hesitate to reach out to https://magicstraws.com/. They’ll be sure to take care of you. And if none of the flavors we tested sound good to you, they do have a wide range of other flavors like cotton candy, root beer, and cinnamon bun. If you’re tired of boring water, be sure to check out their “Water Magic Straws” that will add flavor and fizz to your water.

Typically I like to sleep in until the last minute before having to go to work, but when a friend asks me if I want to go to a buffet with them, I’ll wake up with the Sun if I have to. Thankfully, I got to sleep in until 8:30am (even though I didn’t have to work till 11am.) I hopped out of bed, brushed my teeth, and got dressed. I let my dog outside to do his morning routine, filled his bowl with food, and headed out the door to have breakfast I won’t ever forget.

When I entered the Shoney’s parking lot, I’m flooded with memories of going there with my parents and grandparents when I was a kid. I wondered if Shoney Bear would remember me. If he did, we would have so much to catch up on (and he would be proud of everything I’ve done with my life). Will the piece of chewed gum I stuck inside the lollipop tree still be there 20-some years later? I find a parking spot (they have the worst parking lot I’ve had to navigate) and I go inside.

I walk in and am smacked in the face with the scent of breakfast food. I was both pleased and surprised. My friend isn’t there yet so I take a seat on the bench in the lobby. I notice the restaurant is pretty empty for 9:30 on a Friday morning. I also notice that everyone walking in to dine is at least 30 years my senior. We all gotta eat, I guess, and this was probably their lunch. As I continued to wait, I started noticing more things. Mainly, the lollipop tree was gone, and so was the gum. It had been replaced my a claw machine, which I was excited about, but didn’t have any cash on me. It took me about 5 minutes to realize there was no music playing. None at all, which was very weird to me. But I guess if their main clientele can’t hear anyways, what’s the point on spending money on a sound system?

FINALLY my friend arrives and we are taken to a table. I realized the restaurant was way bigger than I remember and how it looks from the outside. There were tons of people there and not all of them were old enough to be my grandparents, but could definitely be my parents older siblings.

The waitress hands us menus. MENUS?! I had no idea they had more food than just the buffet. We decline the menus, say “we’re having the buffet”, and place our order for coffee and water.

I walk up to the buffet and grab a plate, completely ignore the salad bar portion. What? It’s 9:30 in the morning, I don’t want a salad. No one does. GET OFF MY BACK! I load up with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage (links, not my favorite but seasoned ground pork was entering my body, no matter what shape), a biscuit covered with gravy and I was out space. My only real complaint at this point is how small the plates are. I only got through one side of the buffet and there were two more to explore. Even though my plate was full, I still browsed the other options. It was the usual suspects…grits, hashbrowns, corned beef hash, French toast sticks (YES!), and baby pancakes. I’m sure there was more but something caught my eye and confused the shit out of me. Fried rice. Fried rice…for breakfast? I couldn’t tell if it was a bit Shoney’s was doing (you know, the whole “Chinese food isn’t for breakfast! Then what do people in China eat in the morning??!?! lolololololololololol lmao) or if they were getting ready for lunch…really early. Anyway, we’ll get back to that.

Back at the table I set my plate down and have a seat myself. I take a sip of my water, followed by coffee, and I’m ready to dine. I start with the biscuit and gravy and am disappointed. The biscuit was great, fluffy, and full of butter flavor, but the gravy was…well, it’s hard to describe. After I scarf that down, I inhale the sausage, take an egg break, and move on the bacon and finish off the eggs. The eggs ruled. I figured they would be the dehydrated egg powder that you just add hot water too, but nope. They were real eggs! Maybe they were liquid eggs that come out of a carton, but either way, they were delicious and found themselves on my plate again later on in the morning.

Round Two. This time, I get another biscuit, hold the gravy. More bacon (I can’t help myself!), corned beef hash, grits, and French toast sticks with plenty of maple flavored corn syrup product. No fried rice. Not yet, mostly because my plate was again, too full too soon.

The bacon hardly even got to meet the table before it was eaten. I mixed together the grits and the corned beef hash because I’m a monster but it’s delicious, especially served on a biscuit. The French toast sticks were a perfect finale to this course.

I mustered up the courage. My third trip consisted of you guessed it, fried rice. Joining the rice were more scrambled eggs, bacon, and corned beef has. I might have had another biscuit, I can’t remember. I kinda…avoided the fried rice and stuck to what I know. I moved a little slower with the bacon this time, because I had a feeling I’d need it later. I picked at the eggs, but I know it needed to be done. I pushed everything away from the fried rice and dug in.

What the fuck did I just put in my mouth, chew and swallow? You’re familiar with fried rice, right? It tastes like soy sauce, maybe hints of spices such as clove, kind of nutty tasting too, right? Yeah. This wasn’t that. This wasn’t pleasant, at all. I was so bummed. It tasted like someone threw in a bunch of out of date “southwest spice” in some 3-4 day old rice, mixed in red peppers and corn (I hate corn) and something green. “Oh shit!” they thought after it was finished, “fried rice has soy sauce in it!” and they put in one little packet from Chinese take out. Yeah that should be enough to flavor a 4qt pan full of shitty rice. Luckily I had bacon still hanging around to make up for it.

I was about tapped out. My coffee was running low and my water hadn’t been refilled. I was still bummed about the fried rice, but I didn’t let that stop me. I needed more French toast sticks, so I forced down three more. I was done. I had to go to work and make food for the masses.

Other than feeling weird about how much younger I was than everyone else there, the weird silence due to the lack of music, and the god awful fried rice, Shoney’s is a solid place to go in you want to get really full for $12 and some change (not including tip!)

With the big holiday coming up this weekend, I’m dedicating this to Julius Caesar, who never saw it coming.

That’s right. I’m talking about the pretzel crust pizza from Little Caesar’s. A friend asked me if I had tried this, and I was sad to say I hadn’t. If you’re unfamiliar with it like I was, here’s what it is; the crust is a pretzel, the tomato sauce is replaced by a cheddar cheese sauce. It’s topped with an appropriate amount of mozzarella and munster cheeses, and a less than expected amount of pepperonis.

That same friend and I made a date to try this beast together. We decided the best place to meet would be the basement of our local improv theater, where we knew some of our other friends would be getting out of their classes or practices. We were setting up a surprise underground pizza party. A greasy speakeasy.

I parked my car and shook myself from any anxiety I was feeling. What if the pizza wasn’t good? What if it was too good that I couldn’t stop eating it and looked like a pizza monster in front of all my friends? I mellowed myself out, and walked the block and a half to the theater. As I walked in the back door, I could hear laughter and conversation coming from the basement. Any leftover anxiety was kicked out of my brain and I knew I was about to have a good time.

When I walked into the room, I saw my friend AND SOME MORE FRIENDS! Our plan had worked. Operation Pizza Party was a success. I find a chair and I sit. Everyone else is enjoying the pizza already, so I open the box and begin to dig in. “HEY WAIT!” I hear before I take my first bite (C’mon man! I’m dying to try this pizza! What can be so important I have to wait to take a bite?!). Then I’m handed a 20oz Mountain Dew. The perfect sweet to go with the salty pie I was about to indulge on. The interruption was warranted, and I began my journey into this new world of pizza innovation.

The first bite felt like love at first site. I guess. My mouth filled with all the saliva it could muster making it easier for the pizza to slide down my throat, allowing me to take my next bite quickly and safely. The first slice was gone in an instant it seemed. I didn’t want to seem greedy, so I took a slice of the back up pizza we had, just incase the pretzel pizza turned out to be a bust. The back up pizza was Little Caesar’s Deep! Deep! Dish Pizza, and while I inhaled it just as my first slice, I think it was only to get back to the pretzel pizza.

Eventually, the pizza ended and out friends had other places to be. We left and walked over to another local gathering spot for improv nerds where we ran into more friends, and handed out the hardly touched Crazy Bread.

If you feel like doing something good for yourself this week, I couldn’t recommend this pizza enough. It’s available Hot N Ready from 4pm to 8pm 7 days a week for only $6. And don’t worry, they’ll make one for you anytime they’re open if you just call ahead and give them about 17 minutes.

Having a Saturday off is a rare treat for me. Having a Saturday off and not being hungover is an even rarer treat. Add in that my roommate was also not hungover makes it ideal conditions for Saturday morning brunch.

We decide on a place, and look it up on Google. Google tells me that the time we are going is “typically not too busy” with a wait time of less than 15 minutes. Awesome! We drive there, and by the looks of the parking lot, Google has lied to me. We stop in the parking lot for a second, look at each other, and both agree. “Fuck it, let’s go to Waffle House.”

I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’ve ever been to a Waffle House when the sun was out. I was excited to see what would be different from all my other experiences there that I don’t remember all that well.

We arrive at Waffle House, after I half jokingly say we should go to Olive Garden because their parking lot is empty at 11am on a Saturday. Who’da thunk? The Waffle House parking lot on the other hand, is completely packed. Except for one small parking space where my roommate manages to fit in his ’94 Ford F-150. As we’re walking to the door, I see a large family waiting outside. Are they coming or going? I hope they’re going. Those booths only fit four people comfortably. They’re coming. They walk in right before us and take the only available booth. That’s fine. It gives me time to look through the Waffle House jukebox.

I got kind of lost searching through the “Favorites” list and trying to decide if I really wanted to torture these people with Macy Gray or Smash Mouth. I become distracted when I see out of the corner of my eye a young boy, probably about 3 or 4, standing next to me trying to see what I was doing. I said “hey, man” and his mother shouts for him to come back to the table.

I’m tired of looking through the jukebox and look over to my roommate who is looking at his phone. More people have come in since we got there. Does that mean people have also left? Did we miss our opportunity at a getting a table? I hear the hostess announce there’s a booth available in the corner and points to a family (who got there after us) to come take it. The mom of the family says “these two young men were here before us” and lets us take the table. I thank her as we squeeze by.

I’m glad we’re sitting in a corner booth. It gives me the chance to examine the restaurant and the kind of characters that eat at Waffle House at 11am on a Saturday. They’re…normal. Mostly. There are three high school couples sitting at the bar, which is adorable to me. The booths are filled with older couples or small groups, with the exception of the 7 top that walked in before us. They’re cramped at the opposite end of the restaurant. Next to us, at the weird corner bar every Waffle House has, are three men. All ranging in age. One in his late 20s/early 30s, another in his 50s, and the last one to sit was probably in his 70s. The last one had a newspaper, the other two were sitting quietly, one doing a crossword, and the younger one looking at his phone. The man with the newspaper mentions something about football, and the three of them engage in conversation for the remainder of our visit.

The waitress comes to take our order. I order the All-Star Special. Two eggs (scrambled), hashbrowns (should have ordered grits), sausage patties, wheat toast, and a waffle. I upgraded to a chocolate chip waffle, don’t worry! To wash it all down with? None other than their homemade Cherry Coke.

When the waitress walks into the kitchen, my eyes follow her as she hands the ticket with our order on it to the expo, who is a lady probably in her early 70s, standing no taller than 5’2″, and barking orders to her army of short order cooks. This lady is an inspiration to all expediters. She take the ticket from our server, puts in at the bottom of the pile, all while reading out more orders. One fluid motion. It was beautiful. I wanted to ask if she could come to my job and train everyone how to do what she does.

I noticed the booth behind us had been empty for a while. I wondered if that family that gave us this table had decided to leave, or maybe another table emptied and they got it while I was watching the interaction in the kitchen. While that was going through my head, the booth was filled. Filled with people I’m pretty sure have never been in a Waffle House. The waitress brings them water and one of the men asks “This is purified, right?”. The waitress ignores the question, drops off the rest of the waters, and comes to tell us our order will be up shortly. I say “thanks” and let out a small laugh, nodding my head towards that table. She rolls her eyes in agreement. The table behind starts talking about the water conditions in Richmond vs. Henrico, and it moves from there to other stupid shit I didn’t even care to write down. I hated that table, but I hope they enjoyed their experience as much as I did.

The food comes and I’m on my third homemade Cherry Coke. I scarf down the sausage patties because I remembered from my last Waffle House experience, they are not good cold. Next I try to eat my eggs, but I really don’t like scrambled eggs, I don’t know why I ordered them. I butter my waffle and pour on some syrup. I dive in, and it’s a sugar rush. I’m going to hate myself later, but fuck it. I take a break from my waffle and move on to the hashbrowns. I pick at them, but again, I should have ordered grits. I eat a slice of my wheat toast, and move back onto my waffle. At this point, I’m feeling defeated. I try to eat the last quarter of my waffle but I tap out.

We’re ready to pay, and my roommate offers to pick up the check since I watched his dogs while he was out of town. Now I start to feel guilty about adding those chocolate chips to my waffle. I tell him “thank you” and walk to the bathroom while he pays. I pass the large group from before and they’re also getting ready to leave. I go to the bathroom, pee, wash my hands, and exit. (Their bathroom is clean as shit. I was surprised, but I shouldn’t have been. The whole place was so clean!).

I say “goodbye” to my little friend I met at the jukebox as his family leaves at the same time as my roommate and I do.

Like most Americans, my phone is the first thing I see in the morning. I’m not operating at 100% when I’m looking through the internet as soon as I wake up, so when I saw KFC was doing test markets across the Southern United States, I never really thought this Cheetos Chicken sandwich would ever make it’s way to my mouth. I wasn’t reading carefully enough. Richmond is one of six lucky locations in the country to be part of this test market.

It was probably the coldest day of the year, I was hungry, sitting on my couch, and thumbing through Twitter. A friend, who’s vegetarian, tweeted about how the Cheetos sandwich from KFC sounds pretty good. I stopped scrolling and had to get to the bottom of this. I reply and she quickly replies with a link and I’m out the door and on my way to 9300 Midlothian Turnpike.

Of course, this isn’t a trip you take on your own. So I pick up my lifelong best friend and trusted food companion. I drive, he navigates. After spending too much time in rush hour traffic, we get there. The only KFC in the country with a parking lot large enough to raise a herd of cattle and sell them to the McDonald’s next door. I parked and flung my door open, just because I could. We walk in and are greeted by an almost empty restaurant with the exception of a huge line, and a brightly colored display for exactly what we came for. The Cheetos Chicken sandwich.

They are so. extremely. short staffed. The man at the front of the line wearing a brightly colored jacket with the word “VALET” is flustered, asking to speak to a manager. There is no manager on duty. What? He’s mad because he had been there THREE TIMES IN A ROW, and they were out of breasts each time. The “acting manager” tells him “I’m sorry sir, but everybody loves breasts” his eyes catch mine, I smile, he nods. Valet leaves without any breasts. The lady and her son in front of us, and behind valet jokingly ask for three breasts. Everyone has a good laugh, and they place their actual order. They were so cute, and I wish them nothing but the best. As for “VALET” I hope he got what he was looking for, but I’m positive he didn’t.

IT’S MY TURN TO ORDER. I nervously place my order. “Hi…can I have one Cheetos Chicken sandwich combo, a side of mashed potatoes, and a biscuit.” The cashier was so excited. It was the first Cheetos Chicken sandwich order he got to ring in. Our excitement was shared, but for different reasons. I pay and receive my medium soda cup. As I walk to the soda fountain my eyes light up. Not only at the huge selection of soda they have, but they have the one soda I always crave at fast food places, that no one seems to have anymore. Wild Cherry Pepsi. I fill my cup and gulp it down before my friend places his order. I get a refill and find a table to anxiously await for my sandwich and sides. While I’m sitting, a couple walks in and the woman yells “THERE IT IS!!!” pointing to the signage for the Cheetos Chicken sandwich. They get in line and cannot stop loudly talking about how excited they are to try it. The cashier calls my order out and I go to retrieve it. The couple stops me. “Have you had this yet?” the woman asks me. “No, it just came out yesterday.” I reply. She wasn’t amused with my honesty, but c’mon, lady. The man tells me how excited they are about it, as if I couldn’t already fucking tell. I just hold my bag up, say “…cheers!” and go to my table to unwrap this chicken sandwich made for a 15 year old stoner stuck at his grandparents house all summer.

As soon as I unwrap it, I see this orange liquid that looks like it could have been wiped off our nation’s leader. I wasn’t turned off by it at all, but curious. I dipped my finger in to see what it was. “Cheese sauce”. Ok. My guess is that that it’s the powder from Cheetos mixed with water or maybe some kind of dairy. Other than the orange sweat, the sandwich looks relatively like what you would expect a fried chicken sandwich to look like. I took the top bun off, and as expected, most of the “Cheeto sauce” had oozed off and onto the foil paper. The chicken was a good size piece of meat, I was impressed by that. Underneath the chicken is where anyone that’s ever been on MTV’s Cribs would say “This is where the magic happens” upon entering their bedroom. This was, in fact, where the magic was made. A bed of mayonnaise held eight to ten Cheetos. Not nearly enough in my opinion, but I understand watching your food costs. Especially for a test product.

I reassembled the sandwich and dove in. It tasted exactly how I thought it would. A plain ass fried chicken sandwich with crunchy bits. I love the idea of fast food places and snack companies joining forces, but this has got to be the lamest attempt.

Overall, I rate the sandwich 3 out of 5 french fries, but as for the experience, 5 out of 5 Fire sauce packets