Flava Roast KFC Chicken – 172 of 365

Flava Roast Chicken

Ordering fast food in Vietnam puts patience to the test.  More often than not the person behind the counter will tell you that most frustrating expression found from one tip of this country to the other, “You wait some minutes.”  Some minutes spans a nebulous period of time ranging from somewhat imminent to eternity.  I thought this was supposed to be fast food where boxes of fatty mess wallow under heat lamps while incubating into oblivion.

Since I’ve been waiting some months to finally eat a piece of chicken other than a nasty chunk of bone, fat, and gristle hacked out of a poor bird who met its demise in some filthy wet market, the KFC at my apartment complex seemed the perfect place to scratch this itch.  I mean, seriously, with a caricature of the same Colonel Sanders who feeds the masses all across America gazing down upon the restaurant, how bad could it be?

After I placed my order for a Flava Roast Chicken Sandwich the girl just stared blankly ahead so I again requested this chicken sandwich.  She vacantly stared some more at nothing in particule while giggling, so I even pointed to the picture of it on the laminated menu next to her cash register.   Finally, with instructions to “wait some minutes” she waived me away.  My interpretation of some minutes came and went so I asked her how much longer.  While giggling nervously she volunteered, “Only one sandwich available.”  I looked around and didn’t see any sort of stampede for this remaining piece of chicken and told her I wanted it now.  So she just giggled some more, and said “You wait maybe four five minutes.”

Four or five minutes?  Geez…this has already taken six.  I could have been in and out of Café 91 down the alley and back home by now.   The manager finally told me he needed 45 minutes to fulfill this “very complex order” in his words and to wait some more minutes.  A chicken sandwich at a chicken restaurant with chicken in its name and only chicken on its menu is complex?

As it turns out they were out of the proper bread and needed to fish a proper roll out of another store.  I just told them to hand over the chicken no bread and he said “regulations not allow.”   What regulations?  Did Colonel Sanders issue some fatwa I don’t know about decreeing I can’t have it my way?

After going back and forth a few minutes, he muttered “choi oi” meaning “oh my God” as he nervously handed me what I thought would be a chicken patty sans bread greasing up the little cardboard container.  To say I was surprised is an understatement.  I had waited ten minutes for them to take two dinner rolls, split them, and shove the Flava Roast “chicken” in between the doughy halves.

Well, I have to credit them for this ingenuity and for keeping me from waiting “some minutes” more for the proper bun to arrive from somewhere across town.   Actually this was monumental for someone to actually venture outside the box with creative thinking.  I bit into a layer of rubbery skin meeting my teeth.  Choi oi, come on now.  Oh well.  At least the journey to this lunch proved entertaining indeed.

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Categories: Vietnamese Food

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