During a particularly gluttonous season ages ago, in what I now realize was a cruel twist of fate, my former roommates and I discovered Crisp.
It was the beginning of the end for us I suppose, as our feral Crisp addiction led to many a night of greasy fingers, sauce-stained faces, and gradually expanding waistlines.
With support from friends, family, and a local priest, I was able to exorcise my delicious demon. Eventually even walking by their storefront, chicken smells wafting through the cool air, the jovial faces of satisfied customers peering back at me, I was able to resist temptation.
Then it happened. A few libations in and with my lady and ravenous friend in tow, we passed by on a Saturday night. The smell consumed us. Visions of perfectly fried chicken, drenched in the sauce they call “sassy” danced in my head. The temptation was too much to resist. Pray for me.
