From “My Pleasure” to Flavor

Chick-fil-A fooled all of us into thinking manners were a seasoning. I worked there. I wore the smile.

I memorized the script. And every shift, we served chicken that played it safe

and called it “premium.” First day at Popeyes? No scripts. No pageantry. Just raw chicken

getting seasoned like it owes somebody money. They bread it fresh. Not “fresh enough.”

Not “corporate fresh.” Actually fresh. The seasoning isn’t whispering. It’s yelling.

It’s arguing with the fryer. It’s daring you to say it’s too much.

Chick-fil-A’s chicken wants to be liked. Popeyes’ chicken wants to be remembered. The crust crackles

like it’s alive. The meat stays disrespectfully juicy. And the sandwich doesn’t care if