Real Harland David Sanders

StoryTide – Where Every Story Finds Its Voice

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00:00This is the real Harlan David Sanders. Not the recipe, you know. Eleven spices, they said.

00:05Seven, the police never opened. In 1912, in Corbin, Kentucky, he ran a boarding house by

00:11the railroad. Guests remembered two things, the spotless white suit and the way he stared when

00:16you ate. The house special was never on the menu. It came in thick slices, pale and tender,

00:22with a faint sweetness that clung to your clothes for days. No poultry, no beef, nothing from the

00:28market. But travelers, the ones who stayed just one night, sometimes never reached their next stop.

00:33One winter night, a railroad porter told police he saw Sanders leaving the kitchen with a burlap sack.

00:39It dripped dark onto fresh snow. When a search was finally ordered, the smokehouse was scrubbed bare.

00:45No meat, no ash, just a neat row of seven metal tins, lids rusted shut. The smell inside them was

00:52enough to keep the deputies from opening a second time. A week later, Sanders left town. Decades

00:58later, a smiling old man in a white suit sold fried chicken across America. Eleven herbs and

01:03spices, the ad said, but seven of them have no name and no origin anyone can trace.

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