Jefferson: So what do you feel like taking in tonight, Art? You finally got a vacation from your job in Atlanta, and I'm guessing you'd like to have yourself a time.
Arthur: Indeed, indeed, but I have to tell you, Jeff, I'm mighty hungry.
Jefferson: Hungry, eh? Well, what're you fixin' to eat? Here in Miami, you can try some Cuban food or some spicy Bahamian jerk goat or maybe some fish à la creole.
Arthur: To be honest, I'm feeling like I could go for something a little closer to home, y'know? Something Atlanta, something Southern.
Jefferson: What, like Krispy Kreme?
Arthur: No, not Krispy Kreme.
Jefferson: But Krispy Kreme is from North Carolina.
Arthur: I know Krispy Kreme is from North Carolina, but I don't want any Krispy Kreme right now. I want chicken. I want a good fried bird.
Arthur: Any chance there are joints down here that can put together a proper Southern bird?
Jefferson: Matter of fact there is, my friend. There's a place in South Miami called Whisk. You want me to get your mouth watering? Get you all riled up?
Jefferson: Art, my friend, this place Whisk, they make a plate of fried chicken for $18.95 that'll leave you clucking at the moon to thank the gods of fried fowl. They marinate it in buttermilk first...
Arthur: Speak on, brother.
Jefferson: Oh yes, and then they fry that big ol' Bell & Evans bird breast up nice and crunchy with that perfect bit of flake and lay it on top of green beans and honey-roasted carrots and some mean mashed potatoes...
Jefferson: And then they top the whole thing off with the best gravy you ever had, full of rosemary and bacon and warm, gooey goodness.
Arthur: Amen. Jeff...
Jefferson: Yes, Art?
Arthur: Why aren't we already on our way to Whisk?