But he says he's sure it's authentic because, as a boy, he helped blend those herbs and spices on the flat concrete roof of his uncle's garage. He's not sure who jotted down the list of 11 ingredients. "I've only had that album for four years, since my sister passed away.")ĭuring our chat, he quickly points out that the writing isn't his uncle's. "It could be I don't know for sure," he said about the handwritten list of ingredients, adding that this was the first time he'd shown it to a reporter. (In a subsequent phone interview with a Tribune editor, Ledington dialed back his certainty and expressed reluctance about sharing a recipe that - if it's legit - ranks among corporate America's most closely guarded secrets. "That is the original 11 herbs and spices that were supposed to be so secretive," he says with conviction. At the top of the page, in blue ink, it reads, "11 Spices - Mix With 2 Cups White Fl." That's followed by an enumerated list of herbs and spices. He got $209,888."īut what I'm really interested in is the handwritten note on the back of the document. "I can show you what every family member got," he says, poring over the papers. She died on New Year's Eve 1996 at age 94. At the back of the album is an official-looking document, its pages stapled together: the last will and testament of his Aunt Claudia, he tells me. Ledington continues to leaf through the family scrapbook, pausing here and there to share a memory or an anecdote about his uncle. Ledington says he had a closet full of them. Sanders was always sporting one of his iconic white suits. Ledington turns the pages, occasionally stopping to point out certain pictures, like the one of him posing with his famous uncle and others taken at the opening of a KFC in some faraway land. The album, with its nondescript cover and clear cellophane sheets, looks like the kind I used to buy for a buck at Walgreens. Claudia worked as a waitress in the cafe and was instrumental in launching what would become a multibillion-dollar fast-food chain boasting nearly 20,000 KFC restaurants in more than 125 countries. "This was Aunt Claudia's album," he says, referring to his father's sister, Claudia Ledington, who became Harland Sanders' second wife when they wed in the late '40s. Ledington says he used to do chores in the modest cafe as a young boy, making a quarter a day to sweep and clean up. You see, the guy he called "H.D." and "Old Man Sanders" was his uncle. He agrees to meet me to share a few yarns about the Colonel. He still lives in the house in which he grew up, just north of the city limits of Corbin, a town of about 7,300. The 67-year-old retired teacher has spent his entire life in Appalachia. With the help of the local tourism office, I arrange to meet a man named Joe Ledington. My assignment: research the restaurant, museum and fried chicken in Corbin for a "Fork in the Road" feature in the Chicago Tribune's Travel section. His namesake restaurant has been restored to its mid-20th-century appearance but with a modern-day KFC store as an appendage. I'm here to visit the Harland Sanders Cafe and Museum, a shrine of sorts to the fried chicken magnate. Our story begins with my trip to the small town of Corbin, Ky., where the Colonel first served his chicken more than 75 years ago to hungry motorists at the service station he ran. Other protective measures include using two different suppliers to prepare the 11 herbs and spices so that no single entity can crack the code. In 2008, the Louisville, Ky.-based company used a Brink’s armored truck and briefcase marked “Top Secret” when it made a big show of beefing up security at the vault containing the Colonel’s handwritten recipe. For KFC Corp., keeping the elusive mix of 11 herbs and spices under wraps has been paramount - not to mention a great marketing tool. For decades, "The Colonel" was synonymous with snow-colored suits, black string ties and "finger lickin' good" chicken coated in a secret blend of 11 herbs and spices.Īttempts to unearth the Colonel’s Original Recipe, or replicate it, have been made too many times to count. But, as many of us remember, the real Colonel was a bespectacled, white-haired guy named Harland David Sanders who spawned a fast-food empire. These days, the late Colonel has been resurrected on TV commercials as a caricature played by the likes of George Hamilton and Jim Gaffigan.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |