Chickening Out

Even as we pulled up to the KFC parking lot, I thought it all had to be a joke— some demented April Fool’s Day prank delivered a few weeks late. But the first line on the official website description put any rumors to rest—“The new KFC Double Down sandwich is real!” Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the Double Down exists. And I stove forth, like Lewis and Clark mapping unchartered territory, to bravely devour this deep fried monster of a “sandwich.”


First, some background on the Double Down. Basically, take everything your doctor doesn’t want you to eat and multiply it by 2— 2 slices of bacon and 2 slices of cheese contained in 2 pieces of fried chicken— and top it with a “special sauce” that’s probably just mayonnaise with orange food coloring. If you’re watching your figure, you can opt for the grilled version, though if you’re really health-concerned you should probably set fire to the KFC and run as fast as you can. Then add a large coke and a side of potato wedges.

The Double Down goes against every nutrition lesson I’ve ever learned in my life. With each bite, I felt a food pyramid crumble. Twenty years of sporadic dieting and food-related guilt meant that I couldn’t casually chomp down on every artery’s worst nightmare. I wasn’t raised catholic, but I now understand their sense of religious guilt—I felt it twist in my gut with every bite of greasy, cheesy chicken. And I opted for the grilled version (or as my brother puts it, I wimped out). If I’d eaten an entire fried sandwich, I think I would have imploded into a vortex of shame on the spot.

This is truly a travesty that could only be born in America: home of freedom, equality and the pursuit of gluttony. In what culinary dungeon did the Colonel’s insane alter-ego dream up this Frankenstein pile of meat and cheese?

My first problem came with the actual holding of a sandwich. They wrap it in a thin layer of paper, but that doesn’t stop oil and melting cheese to scald your fingers. Wrestling with two hot, oil-soaked chicken patties is much more difficult than containing all the fixings between a couple slices of carbs.

All sandwiches have one thing in common (bread) and that’s the one thing the Double Down rudely ignores. KFC should realize that they can’t just change the essential rules of sandwiches. These rules have been long established and respected, and a snappy ad campaign won’t make the American masses forget the definition of a sandwich. Then again, the “Double Down Pile of Meat” doesn’t sound quite as poetic.
What’s next for the restaurant world? Will Panera replace their bread bowls with hollow chicken carcasses?

Then again, it’s refreshing for a fast food joint to stop pretending they’re not killing you with every gloriously greasy bite. For awhile, KFC tried to change their name to “Kitchen Fresh Chicken,” which didn’t change the fact that 90% of their menu items are fried. Now, it looks like the charade’s up. They’re not only going back to their deep-fried roots, they’re publicly consummating their relationship with the birth of this meaty monstrosity.

To be honest, the sandwich tasted pretty good. The grilled chicken was spicy and tender, and the mayonnaise-cheese-bacon glob in the middle tasted like slow albeit happy heart failure. The sample of a fried version I tried was almost unbearably salty. The first few bites were fairly pleasant, but soon finishing the sandwich became a challenge rather than a meal. Even after I finished every gloppy bite, I was left with a souvenir—a three day heartburn spree that reminded me of just how lovely it is to a fast food-fueled American consumer.

Bluenet: Belle of the Ball

All semester long, Bluenet waits like a homely girl at a junior high sock hop. It nurses its cup of Hawaiian Punch and frowns at its cousin Blackboard, who everyone courts all year long. Bluenet thinks Blackboard is a total slut, giving away all of those Powerpoint presentations for free.

But now, with class registration looming in the near future, everyone’s asking Bluenet to dance.

The next week brings nothing but panic. Late at night, students huddle over glowing computer screens and hyperventilate when they realize they will never graduate. They crowd Goebel hall and confusedly bump into each other, because they’ve never had a reason to enter Goebel until now. And all because it’s time to pick classes.

The main panic centers on the fact that if you sign up for the wrong class, you will fail horribly and get expelled from Elmhurst. So to make sure you don’t disappoint your parents, lose all your friend and throw your life away, you better be prepared.

This time of year brings out two species of students: the last-minute sloth and the aggressive over-planner. The sloth saunters to their advisor’s office the day before their registration date, then asks in a slow voice what their major is again. The over-planner mapped out every second of college during first semester freshman year, but still indulges in a panic attack once in awhile. Either way, the advisor loses.

Following are the three methods that guarantee you’ll enroll in some class, even if they have nothing to do with your major.

Rate-my-Professor method:

This method revolves around ratemyprofessor.com, which grades on professors using a complex system of smiley or frown-y faces. This kindergarten scale comes in handy since most people using this site are opting for the easiest class. Assigns a lot of homework? How dare she. Tough end-of semester test? No thank you. Might as well find the most effortless courses and use your excess energy for flirting in Founders.

Sleeping Beauty method:

This style of taking classes involves signing up for the latest classes possible. Ideally, no class will begin before 1 p.m. Extra points are rewarded if Fridays can also be kept class-free. This plan works best for late night partiers, insomniacs, and nocturnal animals.

Follow the Flock method:

Nobody wants to be the loser crying softly at the back of the classroom. This method completely solves that problem— you just sign up for every class your friends are taking. Leave your interests and passions behind. Popularity is more important anyway. You can always change your major to Conformity.

So get ready to woo Bluenet as best as you can. It’s your once-a-semester date, and Bluenet’s sole time to shine. So on that registration day, play some soft music, lay a single rose against your keyboard, and get ready for the exhausted site to crash from emotional exhaustion. Then you can run to your advisor and cry some more.