Just back from a long drive from Atlanta, I didn’t want to cook anything for dinner. So, pizza or fried chicken? We flipped a coin, it was pizza, but Nancy over-ruled the coin toss and said, “Get chicken. I don’t care what the penny said.”
Hopping in the car again after a 510-mile jaunt up I-85 and Route 29, I ordered a box of chicken at KFC, original, of course. But they were all out – not of boxes – they were out of chicken. They had tenders and slenders and nuggets and other stuff, but they were completely out of real chicken – chicken with a bone inside and puckered skin on the outside.
Back to the house. I explained the chicken shortage. Do you still want fried chicken?
“Yes.”
So off I went to Bojangles at Hollymead.
To get to Bojangles at Hollymead, you have to circle the area like a roadkill buzzard, and you finally figure out that though it is sort of in the Hollymead Shopping Center, it is only accessible via route 29.
I ordered an 8-piece box with a gallon of tea and all the fixing’s, and we ate like kings. The breasts, usually my least favorite part of the chicken, erupted with juices. The chicken was hot, juicy, delicious and the biscuits were sinfully delicious. Nobody, I mean nobody, makes biscuits like Bojangles.
Next time, it may be my first choice, even if KFC has chicken.
