Florida is the only place where I have pulled off the highway for a soda and ended up chasing fried chicken.
One random detour down a side street in Orlando turned into a plate of crispy, peppery chicken that ruined my loyalty to drive-thru chains forever.
Since that meal, I have started treating fried chicken hunts as a sport, following hand-painted signs, muttered local tips, and suspiciously specific directions from gas station cashiers…