Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The place is certainly nothing to look at—basically a ranch-style house painted orange
with a sign out front reading
Chicken King & Ice Cream
.
The front porch is dusty and starkly furnished with a couple of uninviting picnic tables,
and the interior, if anything, is even less appealing—linoleum floors, fluorescent lights,
formica tables.
But the chicken that evening smelled heavenly, and the clientele (seemingly all local)
gave every indication of enjoying their meals.
We studied the menu behind the cash register. Having determined that the chicken was
sold by the piece, Michael placed an order for
seis presas
(six pieces) in his best junior high
Spanish.
“No chicken,” he was told by the unsmiling woman behind the counter.
“I'm sorry?” he said, his mind boggling at the notion of no chicken in a place named
Chicken King
(it reminded us of the doctor's bald announcement several years earlier that
he had no medicines in the Vieques hospital emergency room).
Noting Michael's expression, the grim-faced lady turned to one of her more pleasant-
looking colleagues for assistance.
“You wait for new chicken?” the colleague smilingly asked Michael. “They cook now.”
“Hmm,” Michael said, turning to me. I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. To be honest,
it smelled so good I was prepared to pitch a tent and wait all night.
“Okay,” he said. “
Sí
.”
We grabbed an empty table and studied the crowd around us. It comprised the very
young, the very old, and every age in between. Some were paying rapt attention to a TV
suspended high up on a wall while others chatted amiably. All munched enthusiastically on
their food.
Finally our
seis presas
were ready.
With a little flourish the server flung open the glass window that separated the front of
the store from the kitchen and reached in with large aluminum tongs to pull out our chick-
en, which she placed in a brightly colored box and overlaid with enormous fried potato
wedges.
“Thank for you patient,” she said politely.
“
De nada
,” we replied in unison, bolting for the door.
We couldn't wait to get home and eat.
And was it as good as Jane claimed?
Better.
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