I’ve always been a picky eater. Trying new foods and letting the different flavors settle on my tongue felt unnecessarily daunting, and I found myself sticking to the same types of foods I’m familiar with. Two of those were crispy, Southern fried chicken and golden, fluffy waffles.
Growing up in South Carolina, I couldn’t drive five miles without passing an establishment selling soul food. They filled my 12-year-old stomach with chicken stuck to brown breading and covered in syrup, dripping onto pieces of waffles I tore with my hands. Now, nearly a decade later, I crave that same feeling — the taste, the touch, the smell.
And I found it in Kiki’s Chicken and Waffles.
Settled in northeast Columbia, Kiki’s didn’t seem to draw a big crowd. It was just past 6 p.m. when I pulled into the mostly empty parking lot. Two cars were parked near the entrance, though one left not long after, picking up their food to go. Besides my small group of three, no other customers were seated, and servers lingered around the bar as we took our seats.
Smooth R&B played over the radio as I skimmed the menu, overwhelmed by the sheer number of dishes that caught my eye — ones I actually wanted to try. But I knew what I was here for. I mean, come on. It’s in the name.
It didn’t take long for the food to hit the table, and damn, did it look good.
Four pieces of fried chicken wings formed a ring around the plate, pointing toward the center of a Belgian waffle, powdered sugar mingling with a melting ball of butter. It was Kiki’s staple dish: their Kiki’s Chicken & Waffle, priced at a cool $17.29.
Another plate sat on the table, four more pieces of chicken hugging a small bowl of mac and cheese, and another filled with mashed potatoes soaked in gravy. Kiki’s Soul Food Plate certainly looked like it was worth $17.99, though its taste had yet to be tested.
Thankfully, I wasn’t disappointed.
Fried chicken tends to taste a little dry, but Kiki’s was far from it. The chicken pulled apart easily and paired perfectly with the waffle, creating that balance between sweet and savory. The waffle itself wasn’t inherently unique, but it reminded me of long, summer trips with my grandparents, stuffing our faces with crisp waffles in the early morning. Its familiarity is what makes it a damn good waffle — one that we quickly cleared off the plate.
Though the platter lacked the sweetness of the waffle, it made up for it in other ways. The mac and cheese tasted like your typical Southern dish, and the mashed potatoes (while a little cold) felt authentic: smooth and without those little chunks of potato skin I've never really liked. I did wish the mac and cheese was a bit creamier, the kind that practically melts in your mouth, but the bowl was clean by the time we got the check. That's all that really matters.
At this point, more people had walked in, settling in other booths, adding general chatter to the restaurant's atmosphere. Noise is almost as important as taste and flavor. The clinking of glasses, the sounds of gentle music, the voices of locals and newcomers contributing to a symphony of community... now that makes a good meal a great one.
You can never go wrong with chicken and waffles, but it’s hard not to chase after a specific taste, one seeped in nostalgia. To me, good-tasting food isn’t just about flavor — it’s a memory, it’s finding familiarity in something new. Kiki’s delivers this through a kind of uniqueness that lets their flavors stand out while also keeping those cobwebbed memories alive.
