Finger-lickin’ good news for your fireplace

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 11/01/2021 (2069 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

What with being a crusading newspaper columnist, I am used to the constant ups and downs of doing journalism for a living.

On the upside, I was 10 shades of excited late last year when my city editor emailed me a news release along with the following comment: “This has your name all over it!”

The opening paragraph of the news breathlessly declared: “Forget chestnuts roasting over an open fire, because KFC’s famous fried chicken-scented 11 Herbs & Spices Firelog is coming to Canada.”

It contained this inspiring quote from Samantha Redman, chief marketing officer, KFC Canada: “Canada’s winter season and fireplaces go together like an iconic KFC bucket of chicken and gravy. It’s the comfort of a warm fire and the delicious aroma of our world-famous fried chicken that makes the KFC 11 Herbs & Spices Firelog a truly hearth-warming and hunger-inducing experience for all.”

Yes, for the first time, Canadians would be able to get their greasy hands on a firelog that would leave their homes — along with everything and everyone in it — emitting the mouthwatering aroma of Colonel Sanders’ legendary fried chicken.

On the downside, however, my dreams of spending the holidays under a cloud of fried-chicken-scented goodness were initially dashed when pandemic restrictions on the sale of non-essential items prevented me from buying one of these fragrant firelogs.

I felt the same way a few years ago when my city editor sent me a news release boasting that KFC was introducing a fizzy bath bomb shaped like a finger-lickin’ chicken drumstick to ensure you emerge from the tub smelling like the colonel’s signature bucket of goodness. Tragically, KFC’s “Chicken Smelling Bath Powder” was only available in Japan.

This past Christmas morning, however, I discovered a miracle under our tree — a festive holiday bag, inside of which, covered in cling wrap, was one of KFC’s limited-edition $19.99 fried-chicken-scented firelogs.

It turns out my wife, She Who Must Not Be Named, had been wandering through a Canadian Tire store on her lunch hour shortly before the tighter shopping restrictions were imposed when, suddenly and without warning, her nostrils were assailed by a strong, spicy aroma.

“I looked around and there on the shelf was a stack of KFC firelogs!” she said as I hugged the aromatic gift close to my rapidly beating heart. “I was laughing to myself and proudly went off to the cashier. The cashier looked at it and we both started laughing, thinking this log was hilarious.

“So I went back to work and by the time I got in my car to drive home, it reeked of KFC. I couldn’t wait to get home and take the log out of my car. I hid it in the garage until Christmas morning.”

My wife’s reaction underscores the fact that innovative products like the KFC-scented firelog tend to divide readers along gender lines as follows:

Typical male reaction (weeping tears of joy): “Thank you, honey, now my ugly Christmas sweater and all of our furniture smells just like a bucket of greasy fried chicken!”

Typical female reaction: “Blarghhh! I think I’m going to be sick!”

As you would expect, I wanted to throw the KFC log in the fireplace as soon as I unwrapped it, but my wife made me agree to one condition — I could only burn it outside in our backyard firepit.

That night, I had a hard time sleeping because, instead of visions of sugar plums, my head was aflame with excitement over the prospect of lighting up my fried-chicken firelog on Boxing Day.

My wife had a hard time nodding off, too, but for an entirely different reason. Around 2 a.m., she lurched out of bed, saying: “I can’t (bad word) sleep because all I can smell is fried chicken!”

Which is when, grumbling all the way, she marched over to our Christmas tree, scooped up the firelog, then stomped down the hallway, where she opened the back door and unceremoniously dropped my favourite gift on the back steps.

Not long after waking up on Boxing Day, I raced out back, tossed the KFC log in our fire pit along with some bunched up newspapers, then set it ablaze before parking myself on a patio chair with a celebratory glass of fine Canadian whisky.

As I basked in the subtle scent of fried meat wafting from the back yard blaze, my wife came out to see if she was still offended by the aroma.

“I’m glad you’re happy, dear,” she sniffed, “but that is really disgusting.”

The truth is, what with being outside in the frosty air, I could barely smell a thing, but I wasn’t about to admit that to my wife. Because, as far as I was concerned, there was something special in the air — call it the magic of Christmas, with a delicious hint of grease.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca