KFC vs. KFC
The New York Times' Steven Kurutz on the other purveyor of not-so-good fried chicken with the
initials
K.F.C.
For those unfamiliar with the institution, a brief primer. Kennedy Fried Chicken is a New York-born outfit that is owned and operated largely by Afghan immigrants, and its shops are typically found far from the well-traveled canyons of Manhattan - on Webster Avenue in the Bronx; in Flatbush; near the Queens Plaza subway station. Devotees say Kennedy serves a good bird, not too oily, not too dry. But its true notoriety comes from being a kind of second-rate imitation of the popular Kentucky Fried Chicken chain, right down to the same red and white colors and those familiar initials.
Such similarities could naturally lead Kennedy Fried Chicken to be confused with the other KFC. But not if the original KFC can help it; that company filed a lawsuit in New York federal court in 1990 for trademark infringement, and continues to pursue legal action today. Responding to a recent query, Kentucky Fried Chicken said in a statement that it was "aggressively pursuing the cessation of all confusingly similar use of the famous KFC trademarks and trade dress by Kennedy Fried Chicken."
Despite such hurdles, Kennedy has managed to prosper. This year marks what many employees call its 25th year in business, although given the company's sketchy history, the founding date is in question.
Having started with one small outpost, the company now has roughly 50 branches around the city. The brand has also spread to Maryland, Connecticut and Massachusetts. And former Kennedy employees operate the Crown, Royal and Mama's Fried Chicken franchises in New York and beyond. While keeping an army of Kentucky Fried litigators at bay - and battling escalating rents and the vagaries that come with staking ground in the city's rougher neighborhoods - Kennedy has risen to become, improbably, a fried chicken king.
Success in the fast-food industry is usually followed by a kind of mainstreaming: a recognizable brand name, plus the ability to order Combo No. 1 in Bayside or Bay Ridge and receive essentially the same thing. Yet for all its expansion, Kennedy remains firmly under the radar. In contrast to most businesses its size, Kennedy does little or no advertising, and after two decades its chief characteristic arguably remains its likeness to a more prominent chicken outlet.
Indeed, Kennedy may remind some of a conceit used in the Eddie Murphy comedy "Coming to America." In the 1988 film, Mr. Murphy's employer operates a strangely familiar hamburger place called McDowell's. ("They got the Golden Arches, mine is the Golden Arcs.") Not surprisingly, the character's paranoia runs on high burner.
Likewise, in visits to a half-dozen Kennedy outposts in three boroughs and phone calls to roughly six more, it was clear that Kennedy employees are often reluctant to talk about the workings of their business. Numerous requests to speak to branch owners were uniformly deflected by reticent workers. ("The boss will be back on Friday, between 1 and 3," was a common response. Equally common was the boss's seemingly abrupt absence on those Fridays.)
This discretion may be born of Kennedy's awareness of Kentucky's consistent efforts to protect its own trademark. Still, a number of differences set the two apart, starting with the chicken. A recent customer at a Kennedy branch on St. Nicholas Avenue in Washington Heights, who identified herself only as Charmaine, said she preferred Kennedy chicken because to her taste, it is less salty and soggy than Kentucky's chicken.
Unlike McDonald's, say, or Kentucky, which has about 215 branches in the city, Kennedy is not a chain, so there is no corporate rulebook the Aminys must follow. Nor does there appear to be a central office. Although three applications for the Kennedy trademark have been filed with the United States Patent and Trademark Office since 1990, two were abandoned and one is still under review, so no one owns the rights to the Kennedy name. Once someone decides to open a store, he is a Kennedy unto himself.
Which may be why, even though a judge ruled in favor of Kentucky in the 1990 suit, finding that Kennedy's signs infringed on KFC trademarks and ordering them changed, it has been hard to get individual branches to comply. Pursuing a suit against Kennedy is almost like shadowboxing.
Kennedy's freewheeling business model has made a peculiar establishment even more idiosyncratic. There is no uniform color, menu or even name. Some branches call themselves Kennedy Chicken, others Kennedy Fried Chicken, while still others are Kennedy Pizza & Chicken.
Though it may possess restaurant accouterments, Kennedy Fried Chicken is a restaurant in the way Harland Sanders is a colonel - in name, perhaps, but not in practice. Few outlets have customer bathrooms, and many have no seating. The branches are often in poorer neighborhoods, and the interiors are sparse and bunkerlike. Workers take orders through a small opening in a shield of bulletproof glass. (Perhaps not surprisingly, Kennedy has the distinction of appearing more often in the newspaper crime blotter - "Fast Food Stabbing,'' as one headline put it - than in the dining section.)
For those unfamiliar with the institution, a brief primer. Kennedy Fried Chicken is a New York-born outfit that is owned and operated largely by Afghan immigrants, and its shops are typically found far from the well-traveled canyons of Manhattan - on Webster Avenue in the Bronx; in Flatbush; near the Queens Plaza subway station. Devotees say Kennedy serves a good bird, not too oily, not too dry. But its true notoriety comes from being a kind of second-rate imitation of the popular Kentucky Fried Chicken chain, right down to the same red and white colors and those familiar initials.
Such similarities could naturally lead Kennedy Fried Chicken to be confused with the other KFC. But not if the original KFC can help it; that company filed a lawsuit in New York federal court in 1990 for trademark infringement, and continues to pursue legal action today. Responding to a recent query, Kentucky Fried Chicken said in a statement that it was "aggressively pursuing the cessation of all confusingly similar use of the famous KFC trademarks and trade dress by Kennedy Fried Chicken."
Despite such hurdles, Kennedy has managed to prosper. This year marks what many employees call its 25th year in business, although given the company's sketchy history, the founding date is in question.
Having started with one small outpost, the company now has roughly 50 branches around the city. The brand has also spread to Maryland, Connecticut and Massachusetts. And former Kennedy employees operate the Crown, Royal and Mama's Fried Chicken franchises in New York and beyond. While keeping an army of Kentucky Fried litigators at bay - and battling escalating rents and the vagaries that come with staking ground in the city's rougher neighborhoods - Kennedy has risen to become, improbably, a fried chicken king.
Success in the fast-food industry is usually followed by a kind of mainstreaming: a recognizable brand name, plus the ability to order Combo No. 1 in Bayside or Bay Ridge and receive essentially the same thing. Yet for all its expansion, Kennedy remains firmly under the radar. In contrast to most businesses its size, Kennedy does little or no advertising, and after two decades its chief characteristic arguably remains its likeness to a more prominent chicken outlet.
Indeed, Kennedy may remind some of a conceit used in the Eddie Murphy comedy "Coming to America." In the 1988 film, Mr. Murphy's employer operates a strangely familiar hamburger place called McDowell's. ("They got the Golden Arches, mine is the Golden Arcs.") Not surprisingly, the character's paranoia runs on high burner.
Likewise, in visits to a half-dozen Kennedy outposts in three boroughs and phone calls to roughly six more, it was clear that Kennedy employees are often reluctant to talk about the workings of their business. Numerous requests to speak to branch owners were uniformly deflected by reticent workers. ("The boss will be back on Friday, between 1 and 3," was a common response. Equally common was the boss's seemingly abrupt absence on those Fridays.)
This discretion may be born of Kennedy's awareness of Kentucky's consistent efforts to protect its own trademark. Still, a number of differences set the two apart, starting with the chicken. A recent customer at a Kennedy branch on St. Nicholas Avenue in Washington Heights, who identified herself only as Charmaine, said she preferred Kennedy chicken because to her taste, it is less salty and soggy than Kentucky's chicken.
Unlike McDonald's, say, or Kentucky, which has about 215 branches in the city, Kennedy is not a chain, so there is no corporate rulebook the Aminys must follow. Nor does there appear to be a central office. Although three applications for the Kennedy trademark have been filed with the United States Patent and Trademark Office since 1990, two were abandoned and one is still under review, so no one owns the rights to the Kennedy name. Once someone decides to open a store, he is a Kennedy unto himself.
Which may be why, even though a judge ruled in favor of Kentucky in the 1990 suit, finding that Kennedy's signs infringed on KFC trademarks and ordering them changed, it has been hard to get individual branches to comply. Pursuing a suit against Kennedy is almost like shadowboxing.
Kennedy's freewheeling business model has made a peculiar establishment even more idiosyncratic. There is no uniform color, menu or even name. Some branches call themselves Kennedy Chicken, others Kennedy Fried Chicken, while still others are Kennedy Pizza & Chicken.
Though it may possess restaurant accouterments, Kennedy Fried Chicken is a restaurant in the way Harland Sanders is a colonel - in name, perhaps, but not in practice. Few outlets have customer bathrooms, and many have no seating. The branches are often in poorer neighborhoods, and the interiors are sparse and bunkerlike. Workers take orders through a small opening in a shield of bulletproof glass. (Perhaps not surprisingly, Kennedy has the distinction of appearing more often in the newspaper crime blotter - "Fast Food Stabbing,'' as one headline put it - than in the dining section.)
Posted: Thu - August 19, 2004 at 05:10 PM
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Published On: Oct 23, 2004 12:37 AM
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Published On: Oct 23, 2004 12:37 AM