I Do Chicken Right

Rogers Cadenhead and Colonel Sanders

Louisville Courier Journal:

The new Colonel is younger, better defined, a video-age celebrity chef. And he doesn't have to share his space with the letters KFC. He's meant to represent Kentucky Fried Chicken again. His new look is less like your grandfather and more like your cousin.

Comments

No, no, no. Much more like Mr. Peterman, with glasses. Give Elaine a raise, will you?

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Separated at birth?

Are you claiming to be my cousin now RCade? Because I don't really see the family resemblance. LOL.

If they were only both wearing turtlenecks.

Maybe if you did a fast forward age progression. Otherwise, no way. It's kind of a shame that the kindly, grandfatherly image has lost its market appeal.

Might as well make the 'Colonel' a Lieutenant, and put him in board shorts and flip-flops. Update the name too, and call him 'Rad Chad'. If you do all that, then, sorry, but the glasses have to go.

"His new look is less like your grandfather and more like your cousin'."

Nuhh uhh. All my cousins look more like any one of the Sex Pistols, sans safety- pin-in-cheek. They done took the Southern out of the Colonel, and I am pissed.

I don't eat any of that not-rankin' dip-fried GMO-born 'product' anyway. All the Southern in it really died when Pepsico bought the company.

The dear Colonel was a relic of those days when a lot of not-necessarily-Kentucky-
born men in the South would bestow that honorific on themselves. Shucks, I'd rather be a Commander anyday.

"His new look is less like your grandfather and more like your cousin'."

Nuhh uhh. All my cousins look more like any one of the Sex Pistols, sans safety- pin-in-cheek. They done took the Southern out of the Colonel, and I am pissed.

I don't eat any of that not-rankin' dip-fried GMO-born 'product' anyway. All the Southern in it really died when Pepsico bought the company.

The dear Colonel was a relic of those days when a lot of not-necessarily-Kentucky-
born men in the South would bestow that honorific on themselves. Shucks, I'd rather be a Commander anyday.

Making Colonel Sanders a 'celebrity chef', indeed. Why can't he just be what he always was, a dignified old gentleman in a white linen suit? (that's what he was even before he got old).

Why do I feel like reaching for a bottle of something?

Better to just retire the Colonel, and replace him with Bubba Sparxxx.

If Aunt Jemima can get a makeover why not the Colonol?

Actually when Spud first saw this story Spud thought that Rcade was admitting to having an unatural fascination fer poultry

Spud thought he'd hafta cry "Fowl"!.

Spud thought he'd hafta explain that nobody has a right to "do chicken".

You can keep em in crowded coops.
You can kill 'em.
you can eat 'em.
but that's about it.

Weird Canadian factoid...

In America it's called KFC
In India it's called KFC.
In fact it's called KFC everywhere inna world except Quebec, Canada where it is called PKF..

The French language nazis have decided that it's not Kentucky Fried Chicken it's Poulet Kentucky Frites.

Understand this... In FRANCE it's fuckin' KFC but in Quebec it is not!

Some days it's easier to loathe the French than others.

Be Well.

I was on an island with a guy I'll call Man Ray. I saw a smiling islander selling home-cooked meals from the tail-gate of his station wagon. For six bucks I got a fantastically tasty bunch of spicy conch fritters, some delicious crab salad, cooked greens, and homemade corn bread, topped off by some plum duff with hard sauce.

Man Ray's too much of a germophobe to eat food prepared by some smiling stranger of unknown provenance, so he trudged up to the local KFC and got a box meal (prepared by a smiling stranger of unknown provenance).

I felt sorry for him as I watched him eat his pathetic greasy shriveled chicken, gelatinous-looking mashed potatoes, and grey cole slaw. He pretended to enjoy it. I had pity, so I didn't make too much of a show of how much I enjoyed the smiling islander's magnificent fare.

I offered Man some duff, but I knew his pride wouldn't let him accept it. I understood, but I couldn't resist putting "Hey Good Lookin', What you Got Cookin'?" on the sound system. He shot me a look, and said in mock scorn, "You really know how to hurt a guy, don't you?"

"The new colonel...is better defined..."

No man can be called better defined who is still wearing a silk string tie outside of Kentucky or a masquerade, or if you're Bob Dylan.

When I was a kid, I thought a meal from KFC was a real treat. The last time I was inside one of their restaurants (can you call them that?), the chicken looked soggy and the vegetables at the hot bar looked overcooked and limp. Nothing except the chicken was freshly prepared. If I still ate food like that, I'd go to Popeye's. The conglomeratized fare dished out at KFC isn't fit for consumption by humans or animals.

It's not Colonel Sander's image that needs to be revamped, it's the loathsome 'food' on the menu that needs a makeover. That's the downfall of so many companies in the U.S.:

Rather than improve the quality of the product or service offered, they spend millions on Madison Avenue to con us into believing they have something of quality to offer. If working people in this country shook awake their anesthetized taste buds, and stood up and demanded quality, they might get it a little more often.

It's ironic that with all the media hype of 'video-age celebrity chefs', and the millions that the real stars can make with brand tie-ins, publishing, and TV deals, the cook on the line at your favorite restaurant hasn't benefited at all.

He's still stuck at a high-stress, low status, physically demanding job that typically pays poverty wages. To compound this indignity, he has to arrive much earlier than the servers, leave much later, and do clean-up work, all for a third or less of what they make.

I think that aside from a good manager, the line cook has the most important job in the place. If the food's not well prepared and put out promptly, in sequence, no one's going to make money.

It's time for cook liberation. They deserve a cut of the gratuities. Unfortunately, the servers usually outnumber them, and can vote them down,
but just one organized national work stoppage by all the line cooks and food preppers might do the trick.

Power to the sweaty workers!

I don't know how much younger a crowd the Colonel is supposed to be representin' to with his still white hair, string tie, and engineer's glasses. What are the suits at KFC smokin'?

They need a multi-ethnic, sexually ambiguous representative, somebody like Prince. The only problem would be removing the residual image of an antebellum Southern Colonel sippin' his mint julep on the veranda while the servants toil in the hot July sun. I liked the old man, he did a meet-and-greet at the original KFC in my town (he was good at it). He's just too much of an emblem of the plantation South to be a relevant image to the hip-hop generation.

Think of the creative possibilities for a freak like Prince. He could turn the whole promotion into a burnin' the stage extravaganza ( but I know he wouldn't do it until they upgraded the food).

Who else could mix raw sexuality, religion, and music rooted in R&B, funk, and soul? And serve it up with a Batdance on a heapin' plate of delicious vittles? And sorry, folks, no more fried. It's not good for you. They can keep the KFC logo though, it'll be Kentucky Freak Chicken.

"And he doesn't have to share his space with the letters KFC."

Tell me this is a joke. Any fool should know that the letters KFC are much more recognizable the world over than that affable old geezer. Give the Colonel 'good-will ambassador' emeritus status, raise a giant statue of him at Pepsico headquarters, and lay him quietly to rest. None of the Net Generation knows who he is anyway, beyond "that old white-haired dude."

I'll admit to a lingering fondness for the giant plastic KFC buckets that used to revolve on high poles in front of the stores. They were kitschy, but nothing said 'Kentucky Fried Chicken' more emphatically than those. They'd probably be considered visual pollution in most places nowadays. Maybe you could get away with it if you called them outdoor installations of fine art in the pop tradition of Andy Warhol.

They looked better than some of the publicly-financed 'art' I've seen on display in some public spaces.

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