13th December - Here's what you EAT tells me about YOU
A few days ago, my partner & I ventured to 'Poor Boys', the deep-south experience situated in the heart of Kingston-Upon-Thames. This Louisiana-inspired chicken joint has been receiving rave reviews across social media and beyond for their crispy southern-fried recipes, and range of brilliantly exotic sauces. As you walk in, the decor of the place echoes the brand's sentiment, with rustic items like typewriters frequenting the walls and shelves of the restaurant, and staff bringing your order to you in 'street food' style cardboard boxes, but accompanied by real metal knifes/forks etc.
It is easy to see why this 'Bodeans' of the chicken world has been receiving so many 5* reviews, and I was instantly impressed by my order of a 'Po Boy', which is essentially a soft glazed brioche, filled with cajun blackened chicken, lettuce, avocado, tomato, and an incredible, oozing, dripping, cajun mayo. I accompanied the order with a dab of fiery hell hot sauce, and a bed of rich and creamy Mac 'N' cheese topped with spring onions and herbs. My partner ordered similar, but went for buttermilk chicken with a three cheese and creamy ranch dip. Beside us, on the somewhat cramped tables, were a couple of fellas who were enjoying similar, with sauce dripping down their beards, and chicken slime oozing down their fingers. They licked their lips with delight and happily declared their satisfaction with such wonderful food, a sentiment we echoed. But shortly after departing, they were replaced by a couple, perhaps no older than late 20s or early 30s, one man and one woman, both slight in build, and with little conversation between them.
They browsed the menus for a while, and when the waitress came to take their order, the man glumly declared that he'd like the chicken tenders, and some fries. "Which condiments?", asked the waitress. "Erm, well, which ones have you got?" he quipped, failing to spot the massive part of the menu which detailed the huge array of culinary delights in the condiment section. "Ketchup?", he asked, requesting a condiment so simple that it wasn't even listed on the menu. The woman ordered fried shrimp (no sauce) and fries, but made a huge fuss to the Waitress about how she didn't want either item on the plate to 'touch' one another, they simply HAD to be kept separate, and then requested that they share a Diet Coke. I really don't know, at this point, why they bothered to even turn up. I mean, this place is mental. They have beef brisket doughnuts for fuck sake, dripping in gravy and fresh shallots. There's peanut butter milkshake, or Oysters with Voodoo Reaper dip. Bourbon BBQ gravy, or soft shell crab.
@foodreviewclub Poor Boys 🍤 Kingston Upon Thames #fyp #fypă‚·゚viral #fypp #foryoupage #fypdongggggggg #fypgakni #fypsounds #for #foodlover #foryoupage #foodie #foodtiktok #foodreviewclub #food #fypă‚· #LiveOutlandish ♬ Rock and Roll Session - Canal Records JP
They may as well have come to McDonalds, and chowed down on a chicken nugget happy meal. Not only does being fussy with food indicate a lack of emotional intelligence, but it also displays an immaturity and lack of culture, and ultimately, class. 5 year-old children eat nuggets, because their tastebuds haven't yet got to grips with the thousands of different flavours available to us. When, after 30 years, you're still turning your nose up at vegetables, or adventurous offerings when it comes to dips and ingredients, that's a massive red flag. If you ever turn up in a steakhouse, and order ketchup with your prime 28-day aged Angus rib-eye, the date is over. Go home right now, by yourself. You're a delinquent. Likewise, if you travel abroad and sack off local cuisines, like the croissants in Paris in favour of a McMuffin, or the Biryani in India replaced by a Burger King Whopper. The truth is simple...
What you eat, or what you don't, tells me everything I need to know about you.
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