The McDonald’s marketing department hath spoken. After permanently McGriddling Australians they’re now shilling chicken wings in Wingdings while KFC opens a store on the famously once anti-establishment King Street in Newtown, Sydney. HUH.
Peak chicken already existed once upon a time ago in my mind, in Granville, where in the expanse of a few hundred meters Hawa, El Jannah and Awafi existed not in harmony but succulent tension. Once gilded with chicken, South Street was a haven for suburban fence-sitters like me with one foot entrenched in the south-west and the other thriving in the inner-west. The area existed as a tourist destination for those expatiating through the Surry Hills gaze - you know, people who like to describe joints sans million dollar fit-outs as “quaint”. Get fucked.
Alas, there’s a new bird boulevard in town.
Newtown, arguably Sydney’s most alternative suburb, gentrified real fast. Graffiti, vegans, goths. When I lived here as a poor student my rent for one room + ensuite in a three bedroom apartment with city views was $170. I’m blushing just thinking about it. I estimate rent well over $1000 for the whole place now. At the time one person owned the entire building – her son peacocked around the nail salon downstairs with a bottle of Yellow in attempts to impress us ladies one time. I saw the plastic sparkling wine flutes with removable stems with my own two eyes.
It’s 2025 now and I’m no longer a starving hipster but a real life woman learning to read maps via polygons and food. Glissading down King Street we see several hot chook providores all within 300 meters of each other. We are beholden to the chicken density.
Moving south we see El Jannah (Lebanese), Gami (Korean), KFC (universal), Ogalo (Portuguese), Clem’s (Greek), Wingboy (American) and the more ambiguous Broaster Chicken and Freego Chooks. The latter is closed indefinitely so I could not do the research. I can’t quite get my head around Broaster besides the fact they invented some kind of pressure fryer to tend to their birds.
Anyway, King Street has become the United Nations of chicken. 🇱🇧🇰🇷🇵🇹🇬🇷🇺🇸🇦🇺🌏
Before hate mail rolls in: Mary’s is excluded because it’s off King Street. Big Daddy’s Burgers doesn’t count when burger’s in the name. Similarly, Fat Belly Jacks is too burger-forward for consideration here. Oporto is technically on Enmore Road, and Chicken Shop Newtown exists outside of my 300m radius for comical effect.
Clem’s chicken, chips and gravy is every omnivorous Newtowner’s comfort food. I have fond memories of sucking down cold, leftover spicy Gami chicken away one time. KFC exists as my bi-annual just let me do this to my body one time treat. When El Jannah opened in 2019 I knew my chicken gatekeeping days were truly over as Lebanese chicken entered the zeitgeist. I visited Wing Boy with a friend a couple of weekends ago and we hurt ourselves on lemon pepper wings (very good).
Sentiments aside, did you know the Vatican is not an official member, but an observer, of the UN? The absence of Godliness here is significant.
In a stunning anticlimax I tried the McDonald’s new Chicken McWings this weekend so you don’t have to. No doubt these are terrific in countries where fried chook is hailed as high art, like Malaysia and a bit of ayam goreng in their Happy Meals, but what I experienced was five large, sinewy wings. You know the kind of meat where you can see one too many veins? Quantity over quality, though three flats and two drummies were appreciated. Very thick batter without much discerning flavour unlike KFC or even Red Rooster’s recent fry pry. They’re crunchy, but best to stick with the nugs, friends. The Ranch sauce is watered down mayo with some scant herbs (bias alert: I take enormous issue with mayonnaise) and the Spicy Buffalo sauce was unenjoyable too. Wing Boy friend asks for my thoughts - I reply no bueno.
This is the first time in my life I tell myself: perhaps chicken saturation isn’t always a good thing. Peak chicken is indeed upon us but maybe I don’t like it.
Last year I predicted the end of the world, like Nostradamus but ethnically ambiguous and not as talented (though I have been nicknamed The Oracle by some) when Chargrill Charlie’s eventually crosses the Red Rooster line. Their Olympic Park store opened in February this year, thus crossing the Red Rooster line, and yet the Earth remains in one piece. False alarm!
But before the world’s end comes the plague. Natural disasters and moral decline. Relentless atrocities in Gaza, the astonishing friendship and fallout of Donald Trump and Elon Musk in high office, claims of a “male loneliness epidemic” (again, get fucked) and KFC opening on King Street, Newtown - are these the Events of Revelation?
“You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places.” (Matthew 24:6-7)
I boldly foretold El Jannah, Chargrill Charlie’s, Frangos and Red Rooster as the Four Horsemen. All this time I believed Chargrill Charlie’s to be the bringer of the apocalypse – turns out it may actually be the Colonel instead. Can we please get old mate Leo XIV’s membership approved to bless our UN of Chicken and mitigate our inevitable annihilation?! We beseech thee.
Peak chicken is upon us. The End Times are upon us. The yuck McWings and bland ranch are upon us. Yeah I know I was wrong last time, but my belief remains: we are on the cusp of a Chicken Cataclysm.
If I’m correct it will at least be finger lickin’ good. Hurr hurr.