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January 13, 2011
Hat in hands, eyes downcast, mumbling to the point of you asking me to speak up, that sometimes, despite decades of devout vegetarianism, I confess certain, shall we say, cravings. People ask if I miss cheeseburgers or bacon, which, for reasons I can't grasp, is the camel-back-breaking straw for many vegetarians. No, for me it's fried chicken. And not the kind someone's cheery, aproned mama fries in a skillet from a secret recipe handed down from Down South. It's KFC, in the traditional old-fashioned red and white bucket, white meat, dark meat, extra-crispy, or regular. Or, really, just the skin.