Al Copeland, founder of the Popeyes fried chicken franchise, died this week at the age of 64.

The early passing of this flamboyant business owner caught my eye because, in one of those 'only in China moments', myself and great old friend Almerindo Portfolio were instrumental in opening Popeyes first outlet in China, in 2003. Instrumental in the respect that we played instruments (I, the tambourine, and Almerindo, the guitar) at their opening ceremony in Chengdu. A Scottish girl, whose name escapes me, rounded out the trio. We performed on a large soundstage, after a group of eerily young, scantily-clad Chinese children finished a rather seductive version of the tango. I believe we sang an Aretha Franklin song, in the spirit of all things southern and satisfying, for a bewildered audience of party cadres, American embassy envoys and regular folk who stumbled upon this odd spectacle. 

The reward for making fools out of ourselves for a few moments was momentous - a limitless, one year supply of FREE fried chicken and other goodies from Popeyes, and some cash. But after about two months of gorging ourselves on the stuff (we took buckets of the spicy goodies on long train rides, and brought friends over for free meals) the corporate machine revoked our delicious privileges. Needless to say, I will never perform for Popeyes again.

Our less-than-stellar performace is humoursly described here  - "At the grand opening of the first Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits in Chengdu several years ago, a trio of laowai billed as an R&B outfit had "less soul than a saltine cracker," according to one audience member."

Ouch.