• Written by Rich McNabb • Proofread & Edited by Claude AI
A baked version of the original KFC 11 herbs and spices recipe, adapted from the Chicago Tribune. Crispy, flavourful and a lot healthier than the original.
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When I was a teenager, you could get four cheeseburgers and a medium Coke for five bucks, then go bodyboarding with your mates for hours and still be full for the rest of the day. We had a friend who worked at KFC and would always hook us up when we were studying down the road.
In the early 2000s, working in tech support, I’d normally have a 1.25 litre of Coke on my desk in the mornings, the young man’s version of cold brew when you’re early in your career and not exactly raking in the Benjamins. In my mind, the Quarter Pounder had securely earned its place at the base of the food pyramid.
Around that time, a friend from work and I decided it would be a great idea to eat Maccas every day for a month. The first week was brilliant, I didn’t have to think too much about what to eat for lunch, just what to try next on the menu. Not you, McFillet.
Fast forward to the end of the month, I tapped out a few days short of the goal, while this legend who walks amongst us wanted to keep going. It’s the kind of mentality you have when you first move out of home and think you’re crushing life, living by your own rules.
This one’s got a bit of a story behind it, allergies, lockdown, a KFC urban legend, and a genuinely credible lead on the recipe itself. If you’re just here for the recipe and nothing else you can jump to the recipe.
By my late twenties and early thirties, I slowly learned this lifestyle wasn’t for me, I’d feel terrible after eating a Quarter Pounder. I discovered I had a ton of allergies I wasn’t aware of, or more accurately, had chosen to ignore. Gluten, dairy, and nightshades (tomato, capsicum, chilli, and potato). Mexican, Italian, and most fast food franchises were cut.
Once the nostalgia wore off, I realised the fast food option was becoming slow, expensive, and once the clown* left, you’re left with the circus. The only person still McLovin’ it was that guy with the fake Hawaii licence.
*In 2003, Ronald McDonald was phased out from mainstream advertising to shift its marketing toward adult consumers.
Eating out went from casual and fun to a math problem, working out substitutions or picking somewhere that could handle it. These days I usually just email the restaurant ahead, ask a few questions, and it works well.
COVID, lockdowns, and being housebound, house arrest without the ankle jewellery, for a time that would be determined in the future. Everything outside was chaotic and everyone was scrambling to get ahead of it. Nobody had an idea how this might play out or for how long. Getting comfortable while you waited to see how it would all unfold seemed like the best option.
Like a prisoner settling into a stretch, you start talking about what you miss from the outside. Then, inevitably, you start thinking about what you could smuggle in. Fried chicken is loved by the masses, comforting food for the soul.
Before I found any kind of recipe, I was making it up as I went. Chilli powder as a culinary comb-over, adding more each time and convincing myself it was working. Channelling my inner Jesse Pinkman with a batch of “Chilli P,” all confidence and zero chemistry. I was never going to reach Walter White in the super lab levels, but we had that same beat-up RV energy they had when they first started to cook. Rough, hopeful, and somehow still moving forward.
I’ve always been impressed by people who find a way to beat the system, whether it’s charm, confidence, or just sheer nerve. Turns out I’m not the only one who’s obsessed with fried chicken.
In South Africa, a story broke that won the hearts and minds of people all over the world. About a guy who confidently walked KFC restaurants all across the country, pretending to be a quality inspector, complete with clipboard and form to test the quality of food. It’s amazing how effective a name tag, or better yet a high-visibility vest, grants you unprecedented access.
Great story, sadly not a true one. KFC checked their own records and found no such person was ever caught. This didn’t stop KFC’s marketing team using this sensational story to their advantage, turning it into a hilarious TV commercial. Wig, fake moustache, the works, with KFC themselves admitting on screen that none of it happened, yet why let the facts get in the way of a good story. So somewhere between myth and fact, I thought, surely, after all this time, someone must have cracked the code.
When searching online, that’s when I stumbled across the Chicago Tribune’s version of the original recipe. Like the character Red from The Shawshank Redemption, “I’m known to locate certain things from time to time.” Except in this version, Red worked at IKEA, where you still had to put everything together yourself. That suited me just fine.
Even if the Chicago Tribune article had only managed to accurately identify seven of the eleven herbs and spices correctly, that’s still better odds than starting from zero and trying to crack the code myself.
The Double Down felt like the obvious target, and with allergies it was easy to modify without losing the essence of what makes these great in the first place. It’s a ridiculous idea on paper, two pieces of fried chicken standing in for bread, and somehow that’s exactly why it works. The problem was always the execution. Too greasy, too salty, and full of stuff I couldn’t eat anyway.
Now I actually had something to work from. Recipe in hand, I went about modifying it and creating a gourmet version. Free range chicken, baked instead of fried, minus the dairy-free cheese, which tastes like regret. My wife Ali is an amazing baker, she’s got the exact science of this dialled in a way that’s always escaped me. So the plan became simple, Ali was in charge of the chemistry, I was in charge of everything else. My first job was sourcing everything on the list below.
This recipe wouldn’t exist without Joe Ledington, Colonel Sanders’ nephew, who showed a Chicago Tribune journalist his aunt Claudia’s old photo album in 2016. Tucked in the back, on the reverse of an unrelated document, was a handwritten list, eleven herbs and spices, quantities included. Ledington said he used to help mix the batches himself as a kid on the roof of his uncle’s garage. Whether it’s the real thing or not, it’s the closest anyone’s gotten, and it’s the reason I had a recipe at all.
This recipe was originally adapted for baking from an article published in the Chicago Tribune.
We open the oven door and they look good. Ali grabs the oven gloves and sets the tray on top of the stove for a proper look. They smell incredible, and my taste buds are already going off in anticipation. I try to keep my expectations contained and fail miserably.
We find a smaller piece to test, cut it in half, and let it cool faster before raising our forks to try it. Phenomenal. That first bite was like a hug for the soul, it lifted our mood straight away. To be honest, as far as first attempts go, it was a pretty solid effort. Way better than an “is Pepsi okay” attempt, and if the recipe was a fake, it was a high quality forgery. We must have had it every night for a week straight, and like anything, the more you do it, the better you get, with consistently great results.
The original called for three kinds of salt, all fairly generous. Halving the lot made the chicken taste cleaner, not weaker. Turns out the extra salt wasn’t adding flavour. It was just noise.
More doesn’t always mean better. Whether it’s seasoning a recipe or designing, cutting what’s unnecessary or excessive usually makes the other aspects stand out more. The original was also fried, where we decided baked might be the better option.
Years on from lockdown, we’re still making this. It outlasted the reason I started, which is usually the sign a recipe’s actually worth keeping.
KFC does limited releases now and then, a festive wrap here, a rice bowl there. I’ve got a couple of my own lined up. Kumara fries are next, and not just because they’re good. Regular potato’s a nightshade, so it’s been off limits for years. Kumara isn’t, which makes it one of the few fries I can actually eat.
We’ve had to rebrand since, as Ali is the head chemist now and goes by Ali’s Baked Chicken (ABC). We normally have everything premixed and on hand all the time.
At some stage, Ali and I might attempt Homer Simpson’s Ribwich, which has lived rent free in my head since seeing that scene. If we can pull it off half as well as the Double Down, that’ll be the next article.