Dear God, bless you for the creation of the Honey-Butter Chicken Biscuit

So I am a pretty big fan of breakfast. In fact, after getting on the scale this morning, I think it's safe to say I am a huge fan of breakfast. I love going on business trips, because it means room-service breakfasts. I nearly always get a ham and cheese omelette, and if they have it, a Belgian waffle. With whipped cream. And strawberries. mmmm...

But I have to say that my favorite breakfast of all times is the Whataburger honey-butter chicken biscuit. It's like tasting a little piece of heaven in each bite. The biscuit is warm and fluffy...the kind of biscuit your grandma used to have baking in the oven when you would wake up on a Sunday morning. The chicken is...well, deep-fat-fried chicken. Need I say more?

And the honey butter...oh God, the honey butter. It's the perfect blend of sweet, golden honey, and liquid lard that masterfully combine to create just the right thickness and explosive flavor. As you pick up the biscuit, the honey butter drips down, rolling along your pinkie finger, glistening in the fluorescent lighting of your cubicle. Not wanting to miss one delectable morsel, you slowly glide your finger across your lips, yearning to taste the wet, sticky sweetness for hours to come. Then you flick it with the tip of your tongue...knowing there is just enough honey left to send a shiver of ecstasy down your spine as you yet again taste the sugary goodness. As you caress the biscuit, you mind wanders. You think of the last one you had. How sweet it was. How that final bite left you so completely, wonderfully satisfied, yet still hungry for more. How your thoughts would drift back to it again and again, allowing you to relive that one moment when you knew you would be totally fulfilled. The memory of that biscuit leaves you throbbing with hunger, a hunger that can only be satisfied with one thing.

Then--just when you think you can't take it anymore, that you will explode with desire if you don't just give in to yourself now...right now--it happens. Your teeth sink into the plump juicy flesh of the chicken. You run your tongue along the buttery mound of biscuit. In a passionate frenzy, you devour it, opening yourself up to the pure, guilty pleasure, the thrill of the explosive flavor, and before you know what has happened, long before you want it to end, you look down at the wrinkled wrapper, and realize its over. You push back, exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. As the last tingles of pleasure wash over you, you sink into your chair, satiated by the experience, yet somehow still sorrowful that it ended so quickly. You start to toss aside the wrapper, and move on with your day, when you see it. Glimmering there on the corner of the paper...it's a drop of honey butter. You quickly glance around, knowing that what your about to do is wrong...it's somehow dirty...cheap...shameful. But you have to do it. You impulsively grab the paper before you can talk yourself out of it, and you lick. You suck in one last little drop of liquid gold off that used and deserted vessel, and you think "next time, I'll have more control. I'll savor the moment...and make it last." As you brush the crumbs off your desk, you feel a pang of guilt "I didn't get Kelvin one. He would have wanted to share this with me," or "I need to restrain; I can't give in to my every urge." But you know, deep down, that this time, it was worth it.





It always is.