Monday, July 5, 2010

FOOD: I Ain't No Chicken

...but Max's got a chockful of them!

Yesterday, I had a little brush in with death as I dared face the challenge of stuffing my face (and my arteries) with dead poultry, come hell or atherosclerosis, all for the price of P165 and endless fried chicken quarters. Today was the day I took on Max's Chicken-All-You-Can.

It all happened so fast. One minute, I was staring at those creepily smiling waiters in the flyers...

...the next minute, I was listening to my officemates' horror stories that somehow reminded me of episodes of "I Shouldn't Be Alive" (Discovery Channel) or "I'm Alive" (Animal Planet) - repetitive (heck, even the titles scream unoriginal!) but nonetheless capable of inducing paranoia. And, days after - just because it did not happen as fast as you might have reckoned it to be - I was on my way to meet up with a couple of college friends who expressed desire, masochistic at that, to beat their own officemates' records. Fresh from a rather long commute, I stepped out to the world and into the restaurant smelling like the armpits of a hundred MRT passengers after a day's work of baking under the sun. I was ready.

One by one, the chicken quarters menacingly came in and I gorged each with my fork and butter knife, making sure that I kept poised for action. Three quarters in, I was feeling the effects of livestock slowly churning in my digestive system and pushing me to give up. It didn't help, either, that the conversation turned to dysmenorrhoea and circumcision (my friends are just the most awesome, aren't they?) but I was determined to finish. One whole chicken down and four more quarters before I break my officemates' and each of my friends' officemates' record of eight chicken quarters, the bad news came. A friend of a friend of a friend (a chain of relationships which transposes to our own claim to fame) downed 21 chicken quarters. I was doomed. And utterly way behind the chicken glutton race.

Five quarters in, I managed to arrest a gag reflex and, with dismay, I set down my fork, stared at my seemingly bloody spoils - chicken bones piled up and stained with Jufran banana catsup - and let out a huge sigh. World, I do not deserve your praise for consuming just one whole chicken and then some.

I flushed everything down with a coco-pineapple fruit shake (aka, pina colada minus the alcohol) and went on with my life. Tomorrow's another day.

(Times like this makes me want to wish to high heavens for a camera... I can almost hear Dani saying "Pic or not true!". Will wait for my friends' photos. Teehee!)

Photo Credits:
[.]Chicken all You Can flyer by Max's

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