Fear Not The Chick-Fil-A: A Guide for Wary New Yorkers.

Ohai there, New Yorkers! Guess what? There is now a Chick-fil-a down (or up or over, depending) right near you in Herald Square. I do not want you to fear the Chick-fil-a. I want you to *embrace* the Chick-fil-a.
(Seriously, the ground floor of Macy’s is far scarier, let me tell you.)

NYC’s first Chick-Fil A in Herald Square. There’s one on almost every corner in the South.

A long time ago, as a young wanderer, I left New York City for Atlanta and the first thing I did when I crossed the Mason-Dixon line was get off the highway and hit up a Chick-Fil-A. Since that day gentle readers, I have never looked back. Sure, Chick-fil-a gets bashed for all kinds of anti-LGBT idiocy, but all the franchises are independently run, so your Chick-Fil-A is possibly run by a nice bunch of folks from Cobble Hill, who sell silk screened t-shirts and mid-century knick-knacks at the Brooklyn Flea on Sundays (when, ahem, the Chick-Fil-A is closed. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about this.)

Now, get a pen, or fire up Siri because I am going to tell you how to go the Chick-Fil-A. I want you to be nice. The Chick-fil-A people are going to be nice. They are always nice. They will call you sir and m’am. If you should find yourself saying “Thank You” after you order, you will hear someone say, “My Pleasure.” This is a nice thing to say when someone says thank you. It might be a nice thing to hear after a hard day.

But what should you order? Let me help you out. You would like the Number 1 — the basic chicken sandwich with some waffle fries. If you don’t get a Peach milkshake or a frozen lemonade to go with it, well, my friends, that’s on you. For those of you who prefer to eschew the bun, I would suggest my all time favorite: The Asian chicken salad. It has mandarin oranges. And little packets of crunchy things to pour on top. It’s is delicious. Those of you who work in the area, should consider Chick-fil-A for breakfast. There is this thing called a Chicken Biscuit that should probably be a Class 4 controlled substance. (A guy I work with was selling them to help his kid’s Little League team and let me tell you those kids look pretty damn sharp and state of the art.)

No, I don’t know if you can get the chicken on a bagel and I don’t want to know.

Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, y’all.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Frances Katz’s story.