Withdrawal.
I’m back in Brooklyn and in serious withdrawal. But not from the Florida sunshine. Oh no, my little cabbages. I’m in withdrawal from Chick-Fil-A.
I’m not going to waste space explaining why Chick-Fil-A is the best fast-food treat in the entire U.S. of A. Take it from Keith Shaw, or if you’re lucky enough to live near a Chick-Fil-A, run, don’t walk, and order up a combo. However, although New York City is the greatest city in our nation in many ways, it has one major flaw: A dearth of Chick-Fil-A. There is one tucked away on the N.Y.U. campus, apparently; I say “apparently” because the security guards refused to overlook the fact that I have no tie to the N.Y.U. community when I attempted to infiltrate the student union food court to get my hands on that nuggety goodness, so I have no proof that it actually exists.
Instead, I’m forced to get my fix whenever I’m in the other continental 47, and in Florida, I ate it nearly every day. Which for a person who doesn’t eat any other fast food is quite the shock to the system. So many nuggets, waffle fries, and god help me the best chocolate milkshake ever — even better than Dairy Queen. And now I’m back in Brooklyn and bereft. Whoever opens the first franchise in downtown Brooklyn is going to make a killing. Mark my words.