A SHAMEFUL CONFESSION

The Chinese-run Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits on 5th Avenue between 49th and 50th Streets in Brooklyn's Sunset Park. A haven for quality fast food chicken and the site of my utter debauchment.

During the week before last, when my systemic infection and agonizing UTI were finally fully vanquished, my appetite returned with a vengeance after a couple of weeks of barely eating (and being able to keep down what little I ate). Consequently, my body craved protein and comfort food, so, in a bid to sate both of those urges, I hopped the bus to the Chinese-run Popeye's in Sunset Park five days in a row. At each of those meals, I consumed a four-piece combo meal with biscuit and sides (sometimes two sides) and a large Dr. Pepper thinned with 1/6 seltzer from the self-serve drinks bar. Invariably the "all dark" order of two legs and two thighs, but as my system recuperated and my appetite became more voracious, I altered the order to four thighs, thus giving me more actual poultry protein (let's face it, there's nit much meat on a leg). Then, the following week, I went thrice more, placing the same order, sometimes tacking on an extra side of red beans and rice (delicious) along with my usual mashed potatoes and gravy.  And, because the staff knows and likes me (they immediately twigged to part of my nature upon seeing the black gi that I wear as a light windbreaker), they sometimes sneak me an extra thigh, which I consumed with delight. It was absolutely over the top, and after each time I ate one of those meals, I felt a profound sense of shame.

My usual for-piece "all dark," in the process of being utter demolished.

It would appear that I have burnt myself out from Popeye's for the foreseeable future, but I must nonetheless remain diligent, as access to that Mecca of stereotype fulfillment is but a meager bus fare away. Instead, as of yesterday I stocked my fridge with healthier alternatives, including Chinese beef and vegetable dumplings for steaming, and chicken leg quarters that I will season and cook with my usual slow-and-low technique, yielding butter-soft dark meat that is slathered with a tweaked mesquite glaze during the final two hours of the slow-cooking. It's delicious and better than Popeye's, plus to say nothing of healthier and cheaper. The edge that Popeye's has is its singular seasoning and excellent sides (which may be down to the Chinese Popeye's having a staff that actually gives a shit), but I will ignore my junkie-like cravings and instead concentrate on staying the course. I may hit Popeye's again around the end of the month, but now I have to discipline myself and only go there once or twice per month. I know me, so cutting it out entirely ain't gonna happen, but this recent exercise in excess was not a good look. Nor was it in any way good for me, other than comfort.