Another quick bite on fast food. Here’s Helen Rosner, writing at The New Yorker:

There are dozens of fast-food chains in America, débuting hundreds of new menu items each year. Of these, maybe two or three in a generation make significant inroads into our collective culinary consciousness: a McRib here, an Impossible Whopper there. […] The Popeyes chicken sandwich has ascended to the pantheon in record time, not because of a catchy ad campaign or an irresistible pricing scheme but because it is, if Twitter, Instagram, and uncountable blog posts and off-the-cuff reviews are to be believed, the best goddam chicken sandwich in the world. For the past few days, my social-media feeds—which, most of the time, read like bleak, polyphonic litanies of the falling-apart world—have been overwhelmed instead by discourse about the sandwich. I’ve watched friends and strangers go through the stages of enlightenment: skepticism, curiosity, anticipation, capitulation, ecstasy.

I’ll admit that I, like many others, wanted to try the Popeyes chicken sandwich. Unfortunately, the timing was never right, so neither of the two Popeyes locations within (reasonable) driving distance ever had any left by the time Keith, my partner, and I pulled up.

Keith is an avid fan of Popeyes, but I hadn’t gotten food from there in almost two years. I surprised even myself when I said that I wanted to try and find the sandwich everyone was talking about. I’ve never been to Chick-Fil-A, and it’s one of those places that, since the first thing I think of when I see that damn logo is their anti-LGBT sentiment, I probably never will.

Supposedly the Popeyes sandwich is supposed to be available again in October, so we’ll see what happens then.