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If you think you've read a restaurant or food review before that amused you, think again after you find out what Patton Oswalt thinks of KFC's fast food monstosity, "The Famous Bowl"...
"The Famous Bowl has a black plastic bottom and a clear plastic top that fogs appealingly from the jungle heat of the beige glop inside. Here's where, in a quirky indie-film moment, I'd eat a sporkfull and realize… "Hey, this is pretty good!" I had considered that reaction as I drove the Famous Bowl home. It sat on the passenger seat next to me like a sullen runaway I'd picked up on the interstate. I wanted us to bond somehow. I wanted to eat my words. I like when things work out unexpectedly.
The Famous Bowl hit my mouth like warm soda, slouched down my throat, and splayed itself across my stomach like a sun-stroked wino. It was that precise combination of things, and so many other sensations that did not go together. At all.
The gravy, which I remembered as being tangy and delicious in my youth, tasted like the idea of blandness, but burned and then salted to cover the horrid taste. The mashed potatoes defiantly stood their ground against the gravy, as if they'd read The Artist's Way and said, "I'm going to be boring and forgetful in my own potato-y way!" The corn tasted like it had been dunked in fake-corn-flavored ointment, and the popcorn chicken, breaded to the point of parody, was like chewing a cotton sleeve that someone had used to wipe chicken grease off their chin.
The cheese had congealed. Even in the heat and steam of the covered Famous Bowl, it had congealed. I stabbed it with the tines of my spork and it all came up in one piece. I nibbled an edge, had a vision of a crying Dutch farmer, and put it down.
I managed three or four more spoonfuls, trying to be fair. I am not the healthiest eater, but this was a level of crap I hadn't earned a belt in yet.
Afterward, I had the weirdest feeling. I'm trying to imagine this feeling amplified, as if I'd finished the entire bowl:
My mouth was laced with the various "flavors" of the Famous Bowl. My stomach was bloated and uncomfortable with the fist of starch I'd just put in it. But I didn't feel like I'd eaten. It's like when you see some loud summer blockbuster, or hear an overproduced pop song—you're left with the sensation of seeing, hearing, or in the case of the Famous Bowl, eating. But in the end, that's all they are—sensations.
There was nothing of consequence or value for me to digest, no taste or memory left on my teeth or tongue to savor and think about.
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If you think you've read a restaurant or food review before that amused you, think again after you find out what Patton Oswalt thinks of KFC's fast food monstosity, "The Famous Bowl"...