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Fried chicken – a melody of a golden-brown skin and juicy, tender bird meat – throw in a perfect blend of herbs and spices, some breading, and tender loving care, and you have a meal enjoyed by the masses. But with the insurgence of the fried chicken sandwich beef between Popeyes and Chik-fil-A, the trending Nashville hot chicken, and not to mention all the grandmothers and grandfathers holding it down in the kitchen, the question must be asked! “WHO HAS THE BEST FRIED CHICKEN?!” The taste of beer, a remnant from the night before - lingered in my mouth as I rolled out of bed. It was our last full day in Thailand, so we planned on hitting the markets to shop for our loved ones. I was practically gagging myself with my toothbrush trying to get rid of a piece of chicken stuck between a pair of molars when Tori came to mind. I just had to have my late-night pad thai fix. Tori was a girl I had been “hanging out” with and perhaps may have had a crush on. I was convinced that a pair of elephant pants from Thailand should make her love me, right? The train was filled to the brim so when I spotted an open seat I didn’t think twice about taking it. In hindsight, I should have offered the seat to Boklin, the only woman in our group at the time. We got to our stop and all struggled to get up the stairs leading to the Chatuchak Market or JJ Market. By the time I made it to the top, an entrance of the market, I was drenched in what was either sweat or rainfall. I ran my hand across my face, trying to clear away the moisture build-up and wiped it away on my custom jersey. Janet appeared and led us to a small food stall right by the entrance. Seating was family style so our group of six were seated next to a small group of local women. Again, I wiped away any precipitation from my face as Janet worked her magic in ordering food. By the time my face and neck were dry of perspiration and rainwater, food was already coming out - pork rinds, three different types of papaya salad, individual bowls of sticky rice, barbeque pork, Thai iced tea, and of course three platters of fried chicken. While everything on the table was delicious, the fried chicken stood out. I scooped some sticky rice onto my plate, followed by one of the papaya salads, and finished it off with a chicken thigh to sit on top of my rice. Sweat began to bead all over my forehead as I took the chicken thigh into my hands. I struggled and rubbed elbows sitting between the homies Gabe and Grid, but as soon as the lightly breaded, crispy skin of the chicken hit my mouth, nothing else mattered. My teeth sank into that thigh letting out a thunderous crunch, warm oil and chicken juices dribbled down the sides of my mouth, and my eyes rolled back into my eyelids in pleasure. Still holding the thigh like it was the holy grail, I chased my bite of the bird with a ball of sticky rice - making for the perfect marriage. None of those celebrity marriages, but true love, married for life, type of marriage. I attacked the thigh once again, this time truly tasting the great balance of salt content with whatever other spices the cook mixed in there. After eating the thigh down to bare bones, I grabbed a full cut wing. I gently pulled the flat away from the drum, letting out a symphony of crunch from the fried skin. I deepthroated the flat and sucked everything I could from the chicken wing, allowing no dripping, crumb, or seasoning to be wasted. By this time it was the middle of the day with peak heat and humidity, so I was drenched in sweat. My jersey stuck to my skin, my face was marinated with sweat, chicken oil, and rainfall that was getting through the leaky roof, and my mouth was burning from papaya salad, but I was truly in foodie heaven.