For the Love of Chicken

During a phone chat with my mom yesterday, she mentioned she had seen an episode of House Hunters that was filmed in Houston. She asked if the traffic was as bad as they portrayed it. The question took my mind right back to that fateful day ...

I had seen commercials for Raising Cane's, and it looked GOOD. I guess I'm a sucker for boxed meals (surprise!). The description of the chicken fingers, fries, coleslaw, famous sauce, Texas toast and sweet tea was irresistible.

 

For whatever reason, I decided that Friday would be the day. Not knowing the area very well, I scanned the restaurant's website for a location near me, and I chose the one on the only street I was familiar with: Westheimer.

I knew traffic would get worse the later I went, so I packed the kids in the car at 4:15, hoping to beat rush hour. Yes, the restaurant was 8 miles away, but it didn't seem that far. Besides, I knew the route, AND I didn't have to get on the interstate to get there.

Apparently people leave early on Fridays because cars were already bumper to bumper. We inched our way past the Galleria - arguably the worst part of the trip - and drove and drove and drove. Whining from the backseat was nearing a crescendo, and I was beginning to regret letting my taste buds talk me into this torture.

Forty-five minutes after leaving home, we pulled into the drive-thru. The fact that we weren't going inside to eat made Abby and William even more upset. Can't say I blame them; I wanted to get out, too. I explained that we needed to get it to go so that we could meet daddy at home and eat together. Unfortunately, the rationale fell on deaf ears.

The glorious smell of the food made me dread the long drive home. I couldn't stand the thought of driving back the way we came. I pulled out the GPS and thought I'd give ol' TomTom another shot (the places this thing has taken me deserves its own blog).

The route had me getting on the highway, not before driving down a street where Spanish and Vietnamese stores dotted the landscape. Oh, and the panhandlers added to the ambiance.

I turned left, thinking I was going to be getting on the highway but was dismayed when I was only riding next to it on some sort of three-lane service road. I thought I had made a mistake, somehow missing the entrance ramp. I turned down the radio and told the kids to be quiet.

Finally, I made it onto the highway. All eight lanes of it, all full of cars in a hurry to get who knows where. I just wanted to get home. Safely. The thought of eating wasn't appealing anymore.

While not the road I drove on, this is certainly indicative of the type of road I was on.

I then managed to get in the correct lane to merge onto the interstate. Again, more speeding cars. More white-knuckled driving.

Lacking an appetite, I pulled into our garage only 20 minutes after leaving Cane's. I found I could make tears though. Tears of joy.

Wouldn't you know the food was great. Abby said, "Mama! Look how tender these are! It's wonderful!"

After detailing my trip to Chip, I was told not to go outside a 3-mile radius of our home.

Thanks, dear. That's one rule I don't mind following.

Except when it comes to chicken fingers. I've suddenly got a monster craving ...