When hunger strikes, sometimes you have no choice but to play the hand you’ve been dealt. Such was the case tonight, when I stopped in a local KFC for some on-the-go grub, despite their craptacular “Kitchen Fresh Chicken / KFC What’s Cookin’” ad campaign. Considering the alternatives (Jack In The Box and Taco Bell), I decided to use the same approach as voting in the California Recall election: hold my nose and pick the lesser of available evils.

Now, mind you, I don’t eat a lot of fast food. It’s probably been nearly two years since I’ve plopped my ass into a booth at a KFC. But considering that the chain is trying to position itself a little bit upscale from the average McMeal, how bad could it be? Kitchen Fresh, here I come!

Of course, just because KFC advertises its food as being “freshly prepared” doesn’t mean that it’s forgotten it’s roots as a typical fast food restaurant. For one thing, you still have to place your order through a sullen teenager who barely speaks English.

ME: “I’ll have the chicken filet meal, please.”

COUNTER GUY: (puzzled look)

ME: (grabbing sign sitting directly in front of counter guy’s cash register) “The Chicken Filet meal…the one on this sign” (points to sign in hand)

COUNTER GUY: (Takes cardboard sign and stares at it for about 30 seconds, as if trying to understand the intricacies of particle physics or the popularity of Ryan Seacrest. Scratches his head. Proceeds to look at the cash register buttons as if the answer is printed there.)

ME: “This is on your menu. You have a big sign about it in your front window.”

COUNTER GUY: (to other cashier) “Uhm…do I ring this up as strips?”

OTHER CASHIER “I dunno”

Eventually, every person in the KFC kitchen converged around my man’s cash register, trying to figure out the hidden truths behind my order (for a product that was advertised heavily on tv, by the way). A line was forming behind me, the Kitchen Fresh crowd was becoming impatient, and then a little lunacy was added to the mix like so much gravy on the mashed potatoes:

ME: (impatiently) “The meal is a CHICKEN BREAST FILET. You advertise it. I promise.”

OLD GUY IN LINE NEXT TO ME: (with a lecherous wink) “So son, would you say that you are breast fed?”

ME: (stunned) “What?”

You certainly don’t get this kind of stuff at real restaurants. Or even Bennigans, for that matter. Thankfully the counter guy managed to pull it together and collect my food before the old guy could start making fart jokes. Finally, victory! A chicken filet (which, truth be told, didn’t seem particularly “kitchen fresh”), a biscuit, some mac & cheese and a corn-on-the-cob with a stick implanted in its side was my reward. KFC was even kind enough to provide quality utensils: a plastic knife and spork combo.

Now that’s class.