The moment they opened the Chick-Fil-A just north of Syracuse, my dear wife Karen, Elisabeth, George Three and I knew we wanted to get clued into the hoo-hah.

Yeah, we’ve seen all the cow-cute commercials on our favorite TV networks.

A trip to celebrate the March birthday of George and April day for Elisabeth seemed right. That would give more than a month for the long lines of chicken-hungry northerners to die down, right?

More like a Crawl Thru.

We went on a Saturday, arriving a bit after 5 p.m.

Go in the door and turn away from the food counter.

It was crowded. Outside and in.

Cars filled the drive-through lane.

We already knew we wanted to eat at a table, this being a birthday celebration and all.

It looked like a happy place.

Neat and clean.

Table for 2?

Outside and in were well-appointed.

Other guests obviously were already repeat customers. They pointed us in the right direction, and off we went to wait for our turn.

Spring chicken, with with her birthday arriving.

Should we change our course?

Tale of the chain.

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After we were halfway to the promised land, a woman coming out the door said our wait would be zero if we ordered on the app. Elisabeth investigated on her phone, bit we decided that since we’d invested so much time in the line already, we’d stick to the first plan.

Get ready to make your final decision.

Next time, though, we’ll forgo all this, order on the app, and proceed immediately to the Mobile Pick-up line with its separate door and entrance. I get the feeling they want you to take that bag home and not eat in, though.

Chicken is the star.

After careful consideration of the big menu, George and I went with the Spicy Chicken Deluxe meal combo. Karen and Elisabeth went with Chicken Sandwich combos.

Waiting for the taste test.

After you settle up, they take your name, give you a identifying cone, and shoo you off to a table. Karen and Elisabeth had been scouting, and I found them at two slightly separated two-tops. But before the food came, we scooted over to a table for four.

Spicy, dippy, waffle-ie.

A smiling worker brought our four meals. In fact, all the workers seemed quite pleased to have landed a gig at Chick-Fil-A. Maybe they pay more than Mickey D’s. Or perhaps it’s just higher on the fast-food hierarchy to which I’m only guessing.

In any case, my spicy chicken was, very spicy. I’m not sure if it was the biting breaded coating or the pepper jack cheese that put it over the top for my burning mouth. Next time I’ll order the regular chicken sandwich.

The waffle fries were a hit with all four of us. Some stray straight fries were in my collection, but my dining partners assured me they’d broken off the waffles as no other version of fries were a choice.

The Chick-Fil-A Dipping sauce was a hit with the whole table for the fries. We discussed the hints of honey mustard, barbecue sauce and mystery spices. A few dips in, though, I returned to ketchup.

My unsweetened ice tea did the trick.

We were in and out in slightly more than an hour. Not so very fast.

Nobody at the table ordered a milkshake. I know we’ll be back for Karen and Elisabeth to try those.