London

From the KFC corporate website:

The new KFC Double Down sandwich is real! This one-of-a-kind sandwich features two thick and juicy boneless white meat chicken filets (Original Recipe® or Grilled), two pieces of bacon, two melted slices of Monterey Jack and pepper jack cheese and Colonel’s Sauce. This product is so meaty, there’s no room for a bun!

Yeah, yeah—-you call it disgusting, the epitome of fast food gluttony gone unchecked.
We call it genius!

If you recall the very first night of this little jaunt, all we ever wanted was to get our hands on one of these babies.
And, tell me– is there no sadder image than the fellas being denied a late night sammich, as they plead outside a Brooklyn drive thru through at 2 am?

Throughout the Eastern seaboard, the Double Down proved elusive:
Banned in Boston.
Ran out at 7pm in Jersey.
In Albany, we had the sandwich wrestled out of our hands by concerned relatives!

Fine. It’s Sunday, Rebellion accomplished and one little show left in the UK.
We figure what better way to say farewell to Blackpool than reward ourselves with a savory Double Down—we’ve been living on carrot shavings and beet juice for the last 10 days, only way to keep our girlish figures intact!
But now it’s time to cut loose and oh, they have KFC in UK, don’t you worry!

Sunday noonish and into the local Blackpool KFC and…wha? They don’t have the Double Down, never heard of it!!

We walk out of the franchise to the laughter and cockney jeers of the cruel locals. They call us yanks and wankers, and anti-carbohydrate fascists!

We load in and get back on the M6 before the bottles and rocks start flying, once again denied the mythic snack.
And in the capital of all things fried, for God sake!

Quick jaunt down to London and it’s back to Camden and the Dublin Castle:

Turns out Dublin Castle is the old Madness headquarters, and they say that Suggs actually still comes by now and again for a drink!
We take photos of photos, and even do a quick shot for ol pal Otis, knowing he would enjoy the thought!

And then it’s off to explore Camden once again, and yes—– perhaps wander innocently into a KFC and end up in a sodium induced coma!

Turns out that even in this Metropolitan jewel they have not heard of the DD. We grudgingly surrender to conveyor belt sushi for dinner, comforted only by the thought that we will be flying home in the morning, and that much closer to the snack that has now become a unattainable treasure…….

Back to the Castle and catch Valdez roarin through their set:

And then it’s time for the our last set in the UK.

Backstage now, and Kimm is listlessly picking at the leftover catering:

“What is it chum?” I ask. “Done good, we’re goin home Matey.”
“Yeah. I know. The show’s have been great, it’s just that….” and here he pauses, and I know what’s coming next.
Kimm’s voice cracks as he whispers the 3 syllables:
“Double Down….”
I look around, and though we have played a fine set, and here we are in London on a crystalline Sunday evening, the lads are down.
Ant stares emptily into space. Alf dumps small salt packets into his mouth.

Well.

Enough is enough. I dry the fellas’ tears and we parade out of the Castle, jaywalk boldly across Parkway Ave, holding hands like children on a field trip to the zoo.

Fuck KFC and their arbitrary blessings! We’ll say when and where we’ll have our meal, goddamnit—even if we have to make it ourselves!

And that is how we ended up at a McDonalds on this historic night, and showed the Brits a thing or two about American ingenuity!

The CH3 Double Down:
Ingredients:
2 Fiesta Fried Chicken Sandwiches*
1 Bacon Western Big Mac*

*Available only in Greater UK Franchises and in Western Malaysia

Procedure:
Take chicken patties out of sandwiches. Discard buns and lettuce.
Take Hamburger patty and bacon out of sandwich. Discard bun and lettuce.
Assemble: Chicken Patty, Hamburger, Bacon, Chicken Patty (2)

Enjoy.

A crowd of curious Anglos gathered around us as we furiously worked over our projects. The whispers became audible gasps:
“Corr, have a look at what they’ve done there!”
“It can’t be…it’ll never work!”
“Crazy Yanks. God bless em, the crazy Yanks.”
“The tall one, what is he, a Mexican or some sort of hairy eskimo?”

I gingerly grab hold of the creation and take the ceremonial first bite.
The sodium rush, the explosion of liquified grease.
The melding artificial flavors.
These all come together in an orgasmic symphony, and I pass the sandwich down the row.
Each man takes a bite, eyes roll back into heads, the bliss is palpable.

Tour complete, but more importantly, we’ve ended the quest on our terms.
We exit triumphantly into the night air, bellies satisfied and memories already engraved. We each try to put into words what just happened, how to tell the folk back home the good good work we’ve done here.
Luckily, there’s video!

A fine way to end our Summer, we walk the streets of London, lips shiny with grease.
We’ve come full circle yet again, it seems, and another tour ends as it should, among pals and laughter.

Cheers to you all — old dear friends and those we’ve met and count as our friends now, see ya again soon-M