Hello, beloved readers, and welcome to today’s episode of “Things I Have Yet to Forgive,” starring none other than Emeril Lagasse and his apparently heartless decision to deprive us of his most glorious menu item.
Let’s get one thing straight. I’m usually a pretty chill girl. I can let things go. I’ve forgiven high-waisted jeans for being uncomfortable. I’ve forgiven Blockbuster for its decades-long monopoly on movie rentals. I’ve even forgiven Disney for the live-action Lion King (well, I’m trying). But taking off Emeril’s fried chicken and mac and cheese? Oh no. Not in this lifetime, sweetie.
The Entree of My Dreams
Do you remember it? Do you really remember it? Because I remember it all too well.
Picture this: You’re at Emeril’s in New Orleans, a place where the air smells like garlic butter and embarrassing memories from the night before. You’ve navigated through a sea of tourists clinging to their Hand Grenades like the night is still young, and you’ve made it to your culinary Mecca.
You order it because you’re a smart person with taste. (Not like those fools ordering salad as a main—get out of here with that nonsense. You come to Emeril’s to eat your feelings, not gently wilt them in vinaigrette.) And then it arrives.
The plate is a masterpiece, and I’m not being hyperbolic here. If Michelangelo had sculpted this dish instead of the Sistine Chapel ceiling, people would’ve been like, “The Sistine who?”
Let’s start with the main event: the chicken. It’s everything fried chicken was meant to be. We’re talking crunchy, golden-brown perfection that somehow remains moist (ugh, sorry) and tender on the inside. The breading was a love letter to your taste buds, imparting just the right tang and juiciness, while the crispy exterior was a lesson in texture. The kind of crunch that you could hear three tables over. It was so satisfyingly loud that it felt like Emeril himself was whispering “BAM!” directly into your ear.
But the real kicker? The mac and cheese. Oh, the mac and cheese. Look,
I’m pretty sure the only reason people cry when they hear Adele is because their taste buds once experienced this mac and cheese and knew they’d never be happy again. It was creamy and gooey and decadent, made with a blend of cheeses that could probably fund a startup if they ever decided to sell the recipe. It clung to the noodles in the same way I cling to my petty grudges: tenaciously and without shame.
A Culinary Soulmate Lost to Time
Now, in a plot twist that rivals Game of Thrones (season eight), Emeril’s just decided, “Eh, you know what, let’s take it off the menu.” And before you could say “lagniappe,” it was gone. Like a ghost. Like your ex who owes you $50 and suddenly “lost your number.”
And for what? What did we get instead? Something that pairs well with a skinny margarita and an existential crisis, probably. Or maybe some new dish that’s a “health-conscious” twist on a classic. Because everyone just loves kale where mac and cheese used to be, right? (Spoiler: No.)
I get it. Restaurants have to make hard decisions. Things change. The economy. Trends. Food costs. But was there a national shortage of love? Did the fried chicken and mac and cheese market experience an unprecedented collapse? Did Emeril lose a bet where the winner got to destroy his best dish? I demand answers. Or at the very least, I demand this menu item back.
The Unforgivable Betrayal
There’s a special kind of heartbreak reserved for food losses. The world spins on, the sun rises and sets, and yet you, sitting in the middle of it all, remain haunted by the memory of a dish that once filled your stomach and your soul. It’s like seeing your childhood home replaced by a Walgreens—an assault on your memories and taste buds alike.
Some people lose sleep thinking about their life’s regrets. Me? I lie awake at night thinking about the creamy, golden, crispy duo that’s gone forever. This isn’t something I can get over with a therapy session or a deep-breathing exercise. I need Emeril’s fried chicken and mac and cheese back on the menu, and I needed it yesterday.
So Emeril, if you’re reading this (and you should be), I have just one request. It’s not for money, it’s not for clout, it’s not even for a free dinner at your restaurant (although I wouldn’t say no). I just want you to right this monumental wrong and bring back your greatest culinary creation. The world needs it. I need it. And maybe, just maybe, it’s what will finally bring balance to the universe.
Until then, I’ll continue to be the unsung hero telling this tragic story, one hungry stomach at a time.
BAM!
