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KFC Chizza; Culinary Innovation or Something Else

Some days you really don’t feel like cooking any food,  you have long lost all hope of eating “clean”; even though you totally said you would, and you may have to write a sample article for a blog to show you can, you know, do stuff. It’s at times like these that the local KFC is there to satisfy all those particular needs.

The bonus here is that Japanese KFC actually tastes like chicken.

I have come to learn that when it comes to exciting food, you never need to look much further than the Japanese version of a stateside favorite “restaurant.” A quick glance reveals my mark.

Fried chicken and pizza. Two great culinary giants together as one. How can this go wrong?

Yes! The KFC Chizza! At one time a Japan-only treat, which as of now has only made its way to Singapore. I hope with all my heart and stomach, the two things that will feel the effects of this monster, that its limited run and availability is not due to some unfortunate taste situation.

I waste no time in ordering the beast and sitting down to what will no doubt be an unforgettable ride of flavor and human ingenuity.  The yellow box is reminiscent of the Pizza Hut boxes, found during public school pizza days and pro baseball games. This touch takes me back to my youth and gets me super pumped to get down and dirty. I crack open the box.


Looks like the picture…ish.

Instantly I am hit by the smell of KFC chicken. Not a bad start. I prod around and examine all the parts of this chimera to see what we are dealing with. There seems to be spinach, cheese, some sort of thin marinated pork slices, weird red things, and of course, no pizza is complete without sauce, in this case, a white sauce of some sort. As I like to do with all pizzas, I check its structural integrity.


Everything seems to hold together. Unlike what my future bathroom situation may entail.

I take my first bite. Not bad. The flavor of the cheese, pork, and chicken seem to go well together. The pork is a bit sweet and plays along nicely with the saltiness of the chicken. Lost is what role the cheese and spinach play in the battle of tastes that occurs in my mouth. I somehow manage to finish my first slice without getting to the sauce, however.

As far as first times go, it’s about par for the course. Just ok, but exciting.

Deciding that I wanted to get the full flavor experience I go for the piece with the most toppings. It is dripping with strange sauce and the promise of delivering a mouthful of greatness. I sink my teeth into it, and… nothing but grease and sweet mayo. I attempt to process how this could have happened, as the strange combination of the oil and mayo added to the already strong flavors, destroy all previous enjoyment that I had or that could ever be had again.

With all the courage I could muster,  I swallowed the wad of grease in my mouth and set off to make things right.








Sadly the KFC Chizza was just not up to snuff. My dreams of a beautiful marriage of fried chicken and pizza dashed in one oily, goopey, bite. That said, I dare any of you, readers, to give it a shot and see how your stomach fares after, oh, I don’t know… 2.5 hours? That’s about as long as it took me to feel the second round of regret.

I should have been more cautious or less surprised. Even the advertising was reminiscent of a grisly crime scene.