Big Bubba's Fried Chicken

An invitation came my way last week that was just too delicious to pass up. When a friend received the cuckooest of invites from an "avid" female fan to eat fried chicken, he called me and a few SoChi reinforcements to tag along. Caution Alarms were blaring in my ears causing me to be more than a little leery for several reasons.

  1. I don't do fried chicken. The thought of going to a Chicken Hut in BFE was already causing angst in my digestive tract.
 
2. I was being lead into unknown territory aka Cochran, Georgia. While I thoroughly enjoy small town charm, the back story of this trip brought not so fond memories of Annie Wilkes. I couldn't help but think that Misery wanted some company.
 
3. Riding in a car with "T" behind the wheel is a death defying experience. Adventure park rides do not hold a candle to the fear inducing, white knuckle, heart stopping, greased lightening, speed demon driving that T seems to delight in.

With death knocking three ways, I threw all caution and sense to the wind and agreed to go.
Riding in the Death Cab were T behind the wheel, myself riding shotgun, an Artist, and our Actor Navigator. Following our caravan were Agent, Photog, and the Intern.
Driving 90 mph, I wondered what thew rush was to get to our Final Destination. With only one missed turn and one hairpin U-turn we pulled up to what used to be a gas station. My stomach gave a lurch and then howls of laughter emanated from the car. One couldn't make this stuff up I thought. But as the smell of grease wafted through the car windows I became concerned. Surely we weren't going to actually EAT there?

After a round of photos by the sign we all made our grand entrance. A small audible gasp was heard. Whether from the employees of the establishment at seeing such a boisterous crew or by one of our group upon seeing this joint, I couldn't be sure. We were welcomed by a very friendly staff...and a very dirty establishment.  Stained acoustical tiles hung from the ceiling, some skewed exposing insulation. Dirt accumulated around the air vents, swirling little dancing particles visible in the sunlight. I just didn't get it. How was it that this establishment stayed open? Why didn't the employees clean? Where was the Cochran Health Inspector?
What was truly surprising was the steady stream of patrons. They stepped up to the blue Formica counter, placed their orders and went on their way. I was befuddled to say the least.

We all looked at each other and the menu on the wall. My eyes glanced over to a picture of the Last Supper. Was this an omen? Copies (yes, there were several) of the Ten Commandments were taped on various walls. I thought  of an eleventh to add to the list, "Thou shalt not eat in dirty establishments".

As I stepped up to order, a sudden dread came over me. I was on the spot. Thinking quickly on my feet, I ordered what would do the least amount of damage to my digestive system. Fried Tilapia and Tater Logs. My reasoning was that the fish would not be as heavily breaded as chicken and not require as much time submerged in vats of hot grease. A solid plan. Others in the group ordered the requisite Fried Chicken. T always going against the norm ordered a pound of Livers and Gizzards. My order actually didn't look so bad. Terrell's looked like a nightmare.

We stood around (as there are no tables) ate and posed for photos. I could feel the slight rumblings begin deep down in my stomach. A stomach not used to eating fried things. I had this feeling once before when we "dined" at another greasy spoon last year. Like Cinderella with the clock striking 12, I needed to leave FAST before turning into a Vomit Vesuvius. We bade our goodbyes to our genial hosts and once again T drove like a bat out of Hell. I rode holding a cup in front of me, just in case.

Upon my return home, grease infused clothes was immediately stripped and placed outside in a laundry bag, a shower was taken, Vesuvius erupted, and I quietly sunk into a Grease Coma for the rest of the weekend. Even with T and our Agent suffering the same fate, we vowed to do it again. Only next time, I am picking the place.