 Brown's Chicken & Pasta
It wasn't until about halfway through my meal that I realized I was at Brown's Chicken—I could have sworn it was Church's. And I don't even like Church's. Which says something about the memorability of Brown's. I'm actually surprised the place is even still around … seems like it went away around the same time as West Coast Video and Mikhail Gorbachev. Ha, remember the 80s???? I pretty much only eat fast food fried chicken when I'm seriously depressed, since it's completely damaging food, though tasty and comforting. It does nothing to lift my spirits, instead sending me further down the spiral as I imagine all the empty calories storming my body and occupying it like those terrorists at the Munich '72 Olympics. Fried chicken kills the Israeli Olympic team of my soul every time, without fail. This location was uncomfortably small, with a couple of two-person tables and a lunch-counter that seats about five. So you have to sit near someone, which is no way to take in a lonely meal of face-stuffing sadness. And I wasn't the only one in that state, either; who else would be there, after all? In this respect, Brown's Chicken may as well be a porn shop. I had a 2-piece breast-and-wing meal, which came with mashed potatoes and a biscuit, and a Pepsi to drink. It was functional. Cost me about $5. Plus the pure bad karma of being there. I spent the meal reading Brown's catering menu, which offered all things to all people: hot fogs, pasta, pizza, chicken, whatever you want, for 50 to 5,000 people. Perversely, this made me want to organize some kind of fancy event for 5,000 people, just to serve them Brown's Chicken. I think everyone would be disappointed. I feel sort of bad for Brown's Chicken, as they really are trying hard to compete. But then, so was the '72 Israeli Olympic team, and look how that turned out.
Review by Regina Tourniquet, April 2003 |