From Frozen Buckets to Culinary Memories: My Kentucky Fried Chicken Story

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Today I couldn't really think of much to write about, some days are like that so in the spirit of putting something out, I'm going to talk about whatever runs through my fingers....Kentucky Fried Chicken.

If you’re from the South like me, you know fried chicken isn’t just food—it’s woven into the very fabric of our culture. It brings families together, sparks cherished memories and carries flavors that tell stories. My own fried chicken journey began at home, with recipes my my mama, granny and Aunt Joan. But everything changed when my sister Becki got a job at Kentucky Fried Chicken. What followed wasn’t just convenience—it was the start of a freezer full of crispy chicken and fast dinners, perfect for our busy family.

Let’s go back to the late 1980s. Becki, my sister who’s six years older than me, was the kind of hard worker who didn’t stop until the job was done, no shortcuts, no complaints. Her first job was at Kentucky Fried Chicken in Pensacola, Florida and she took it seriously. Starting at the Davis Highway location, she eventually split her time between that spot and the Milton location on Highway 90, finally settling in Milton full-time until after she finished high school and moved onto higher paying jobs. Man, does she have some incredible stories from her time at the KFC...those are hers to tell, not mine.


What stood out to me most wasn’t her dedication—it was her generosity. While Becki never sought attention for her hard work, she quietly turned her job into a gift for our family. Her manager allowed her to bring home bags of leftover chicken at the end of the night—perfectly cooked pieces that were just unsold and destined for the dumpster otherwise. Night after night, she’d walk through the door with buckets of crispy chicken, buttery biscuits, and those little bucket parfaits almost ready to expire. Our family’s deep freeze became a treasure trove of KFC delights.

Microwaved leftovers rarely rival the original meal, but with KFC, it felt different. Somehow, the crispy skin stayed intact and the flavors deepened. To me, reheated KFC tasted even better than home-cooked meals. It was our go-to dinner during busy times—a symbol of convenience wrapped in golden fried goodness.

I wasn’t always a fan of restaurant fried chicken. My only previous experience as a little kid had been with Church’s Fried Chicken and it left me unimpressed. Their mashed potato gravy? Amazing. Their chicken? Bland and uninspiring. So when Becki brought home KFC, I was skeptical at first. But one bite was all it took to change my mind. The chicken was perfectly seasoned, the biscuits were tasty and those parfaits (even the expired ones!) were sweet and satisfying.

Later in life, I moved to New York and Atlanta and fried chicken became harder to come by. Yet my love for KFC never waned. Over the years, Terry and I tried other chains—Mrs. Winner’s was our favorite until it closed, Church’s stayed bland and Popeyes had potential but the one near us often leaves us disappointed with skimpy side portions. Even the Circle K near our house surprised us with good chicken tenders and potato wedges, though the lack of side item variety keeps it from being a true contender.

Despite the rollercoaster of options, KFC remained a constant. Its quality could be hit-or-miss, but its staples never failed—cole slaw, mashed potatoes and that magical gravy. Let me tell you, KFC gravy is unlike anything else. Rich and savory, it has the power to turn biscuits into a meal all on their own.

What’s your fried chicken story? Do you have a favorite chain or a memory tied to crispy drumsticks and buttery biscuits? I’d love to hear your tales and connect over the shared love for this Southern staple. My uninspiring story brought a smile to your face or reminded you of a memory, your comments mean the world. And if you’re feeling inspired to support my journey, any small contribution helps me keep sharing stories that celebrate life’s little joys.


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