A Posh KFC in Tuebrook

I still remember the first time I walked into a Kentucky Fried Chicken in I still remember the first time I walked into a Kentucky Fried Chicken in Tuebrook, Liverpool. A town where you could get your shoes resoled, buy a dodgy Rolex off a bloke in a tracksuit, and pick up a knockoff football top that would shrink two sizes after one wash. The kind of place where everything came with a slight sense of buyer beware—but somehow, that was part of the charm.

But this KFC? It felt different—almost too clean, too organized.

It was like a place that wasn’t just selling fried chicken but might even be laundering a bit of cash on the side. There were no greasy menu boards curling at the edges, nor was there an indifferent fellow in a hairnet half-heartedly shoving chips and wrapping them in the local newspaper. Instead, there were only pristine counters, with stainless steel shining as though polished by angels, and a faint, tantalizing whiff of something—spices, mystery, maybe even hope.It was as if I’d walked into a portal where the Colonel himself had decided to drop a little Southern hospitality in the middle of Liverpool. It smelled right. That deep, unmistakable perfume of seasoned oil, crispy skin, and a blend of herbs and spices that clung to the air like an old jukebox tune. For a moment, I wasn’t in Tuebrook anymore—I was standing in some mythical, undisclosed location where fried chicken was sacred and the recipe was whispered like a gospel secret.

The Fella with the Teeth and the Cardboard Bucket

Inside, I encountered the guy behind the counter.

Long hair, classic English teeth—the kind that made you wonder if he could out-chew a beaver in a wood-eating contest—and an uncanny knack for spotting a KFC newbie from across the room. He had that look, the one worn by people who had seen things. Fried things. Greasy things. Things that could change a man.

Fortunately, I wasn’t alone in this culinary rite of passage. My cousin Robbie—effortlessly cool, leather jacket slung over his shoulders, carrying himself like James Dean if James Dean had grown up in Liverpool—was by my side. Robbie had been here before. He was a seasoned veteran in the ways of fast-food indulgence. I, on the other hand, was a wide-eyed pilgrim standing at the golden, grease-slicked gates of the Colonel’s kingdom.

When Robbie, casual as ever, suggested, “What do you think, kid? Shall we get a bucket of chicken and some fries?” I nearly dropped my skepticism like a soggy sandwich.

A bucket?? A BUCKET??

“A bucket?? A BUCKET?? That’s what window cleaners use! That’s what my granny mops the floor with! That’s what you feed a bloody horse out of!”

Robbie, completely unmoved by my existential crisis, smirked. “Not that kind of bucket, lad. This one’s made of cardboard.”

Ahhhh. Well, pardon me, Your Majesty! A cardboard bucket! How terribly sophisticated.

The First Bite: A Symphony of Crunch

Back at Robbie’s classic Scouse kitchen—a place where the wallpaper had seen better days and the table wobbled if you so much as breathed near it—we were served a maroon-colored plate piled high with golden fried chicken and some rather timid-looking fries.

I was used to proper chip shop chips: big, chunky, and drenched in vinegar. But these fries? They looked like they’d been booted out of the fryer early for misbehaving.

Then came the moment of truth: I picked up a warm, crispy chicken thigh, took a deep breath, and bit in. BOOM!

A glorious explosion of crunch, spice, and deep-fried enlightenment washed over me. For a split second, I swear I understood the meaning of life—like someone had deep-fried every good decision I’d ever made and served it up in a bucket.

Fast Forward to Hawaii

Years later, I found myself in Hawaii, taking the stage at a jam-packed lounge on Disney Wonder. While Hawaii boasts stunning flavors like poke and fresh fish, nothing quite compares to the magic of mochiko fried chicken—crispy, juicy, and loaded with all the good stuff. Just like that unforgettable KFC experience in Tuebrook, this island twist on fried chicken changed the way I thought about chicken forever. Yes, the recipe has a few ingredients and requires a bit of work, but trust me—it’s absolutely worth it.