KFC And The Temple of Shattered Dreams: A Southern Suburb Boys Tale

KFC And The Temple of Shattered Dreams: A Southern Suburb Boys Tale

This is the story of a broken hearted boy. A boy who once enjoyed a care-free existence in the leafy southern suburbs of Cape Town. He lived a simple, happy life. He worked his week days away in an advertising agency three floors above Billy The Bums – the bar he drank cane and coke in four nights a week. He dated his high school sweetheart, and ran a poker night every Monday at Kelvin Grove Sports Club – he was a member of course. Saturdays were spent at Tiger, then naked in the nearest school swimming pool. Sundays were spent drinking white wine near the sea, and Polo shirts of various colours filled his cupboard. He also ate Double Crunch burgers from KFC whenever the fuck he wanted.

When KFC introduced the Double Crunch burger, some six or so years ago, it changed the landscape of the Southern Suburbs – guys were literally doubling in size. The burger was all the The Mont knew. No one went to KFC. You crawled out of bed, put some Aca Joe cargo shorts on, brushed the vomit out of your teeth, sprayed on some AXE, woke up your flatmate who had wet his bed again, kicked the people off your couches, and you went for Double Crunches. And fuck you if the sweet-chili sauce was too spicy for you.

Then KFC took the Double Crunch away. At first people lobbied for its return. Facebook groups were created, chain emails sent around. KFC issued no response though, and soon our hero and his faux mullet sporting brethren had forgotten all about the greatest fast food item ever conceived, seeking solace in the cheesy layers of the McDonald’s Quater-pounder with cheese, or the Hero burger from Steers. Nothing came close though, and although our man moved out of the burbs – exchanging pints of cheap beer and fast food in Claremont for pints of craft beer, slightly slower food on Bree Street, the Double Crunch shaped hole remained, dormant in the bottom reaches of his stomach.

Then KFC introduced the Double Down. A chicken burger served between pieces of chicken that had been raised on a diet of old chip fryer oil and dead fat people. All over South Africa, and deep within our guy, the drunk student stirred.

Alas, after a loud but brief appearance, the Double Down disappeared. KFC once again taking back from the people they claimed to be serving. The chain drifted from mainstream consciousness, filling the gaps on road trips when Wimpy wasn’t available, or when the queues at Burger King were too long. The companies fall from grace made horribly clear during their sponsorship of the South Africa’s sumo wresting team – The Proteas.

Then one day, about two weeks ago, our guy saw a billboard on the side of a highway. Giant letters spelled out DOUBLE CRUNCH, and next to them in high resolution and standing two stories tall, was an image that represented his years as a youth in the burbs better than anything else. Two big pieces of batter covered white meaty stuff, two slices of cheese, and all the trimmings, bursting out from between a soft bun. The Double Crunch was back.

He wrote about it in his diary that day, and shared the news on Facebook and Twitter. The internet was abuzz with the news of the return of the KFC Double Crunch. Unfortunately most of the noise was negative. Refusing to believe these claims, placing his trust once more in KFC, our hero broke his Tim Noakes diet – a diet he took very seriously at least five days of the week, or when his girlfriend was around, and headed for the closest KFC – which wasn’t accepting cards at the time, so he went to the second closest, and this is what he found.

double crunch

The worst fucking burger in all of the land, sprinkled with disappointment, and served up with a side of shattered expectations.

Through tears of disappointment, and fistfuls of mayonnaise covered chips, our dude noted  that the juicy chicken pieces had been replaced by thin soggy disks of rubber – only slightly thicker than the slices of cheese covering them. The sauce was weird and the bun was marginally larger than a R5 coin.

The new Double Crunch was worse than any slider he could expect to find at a poorly attended funeral service in Pinelands. The kind found on those Spar family-saver party platters, lumped between the polony sandwiches and stale battered cheese balls.

The Double Crunch is not even a shadow of its former self. A cheap marketing ploy by KFC, and quite frankly an attack on our guy, and anyone who loved the original Double Crunch, or knows what a Tiger Tiger loyalty card looks like.

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