November 28, 2005

Fried Chicken Tender Salad

I've had a lifelong love affair with food.

My first diary, written at the age of nine, mostly recounts what we had for dinner. There are rhapsodies there that sound foreign to my current palate: "Oh cereal night! I love cereal nights!". (But some things haven't changed. Pizza is, was, and presumably always will be one of the four food groups.)

As a freshman in college, my first English composition concerned the joys of McDonald's Quarter Pounders, equating them with filet mignon. Like the rap music fan who believes Beethoven was no better than P. Diddy, I inadvertently argued for the relativization of values, in this case the food values. My English professor turned out to be a gourmand (later he brought in sushi for the class to "enjoy"), so I received a C. It began to dawn on me that I was writing for an audience of one and if you don't please that audience...

So what does all this have to do with the price of gasoline in Ohio? Well today I was at the cafeteria gathering up chicken tenders for my salad. I love fried chicken salad. This is actually the second time I've written about it, which must be some sort of blog record. And this post occurred to me as I observed the tender takers. The rulz are you get three tenders, which tend to vary in size. Here on the types of folks you might see at the make-your-own-salad counter:
The Jesuitical Tender Picker - he picks tenders which appear to the naked eye to be an accidental conglomeration of two tenders. He defines "tender" as one piece, even if it is actually two conjoined like Siamese twins.

The Rich Man Tender Picker - the rich man simply buys his way out of the problem. Extra tenders can be had for 85 cents a piece.

The Sane Tender Picker - the sane one simply takes the three pieces most easily accessible.

The Saintly Tender Picker - picks the smallest ones in order that those behind him might have larger ones.

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