The million billion chicken shoppe

Chick-Fil-A. Not Chickalick, Not Lickachic or anything else I might have referred to it as... Chick-Fil-A. Deboo and I watch it sail past us on our way to run errands, and my teasing suggestion we head there for lunch is accepted with great enthusiasm to my even greater disconcertment. But they hype has been too great, and she's determined to discover what she has ignored thus far, the apparently miraculous food being offered at this paragon of chicken. One must do what one must in the name of science and behavioural theory, so we pull up into the parking lot. She, brimming with anticipation, me with trepidation, rolling her eyes at her startling comment that it seems to look like a McDonald's as we walk past the window. She insists we're really only going for the fries.

We walk into the telltale smell. of unhealthy fast food. Demographically, we are incorrect. Wardrobally, I'm an outcast. Like tourists, we peer at the overhead pictures, hastening to tell the cheery, spotty boy at the cashiers that we were just scoping the joint. I'm scanning for the awe inspiring, mega squeal spicy chicken and almost miss Deboo's wail, "But everything is fried...!". She is very guillible, this friend of mine. She honestly believed this was going to be something special from the way the adolescents raved about it. I spy the breakfast menu - ta dah!! This was what would have netted the Chicken Shack a billion if they'd stayed open on Sundays apparently and unbidden the memory of a piercing Amercian accent replays in my head, "Their biscuits are to die for, they're a little sweet because they have honey in them...". Ye Gads, Kill me now and end it. I look for a photo of fries, but fail to spot any. Do see some seedy gaufrette type thingies though, but I mean seriously, what kind of a fast food place doesn't even have fries??!! My contemplations are interrupted by a seriously distressed Ms. Chaudhuri. "Do you really want to eat here?", "Erm, no, I was never going to...". "Then let's go!". A semi-dignified, definitely hasty retreat is beaten to the exit and we lunge out the door double upped with laughter. Clearly, the generation gap is alive and well. Chick-A-Flic is nothing but the worst kind purveyors of fried chicken. (I've never understood the attraction of sticking that between a bun...)

"We'll go somewhere nice for lunch", she declares, and herds me towards Panera, not an easy task, as we shriek our mirth and double over a couple times . We walk through the door to the soothing scent of freshly baked bread. This time, not only do we match the demographics present, but even my wardrobe looks fetching. The helpful lady proffers a menu to save me craning my neck and we settle for an Asian sesame salad and broccoli cheddar soup with a baguette. I meander towards a table, smiling at this guy who's working on his crochet. Civilisation smells good and the food tastes even better. We mull over our experiment with some degree of snorting, carefully controlled. At least now we know.... don't trust 21-25 year olds that sound like high school students (junior high!) on their food choices!!

Veni, Vidi, On y va....