Introducing, unveiling, a post I started a while back, and it was so big and loopy and all over the place that I could not wrap it into a nice, neat post, or anything close to that. So I am posting it now anyway, because the KFC double down is not news anymore. Not today’s, not yesterday’s, not last week’s. You would have to time travel with a large amount of absolute technology to find the KFC sandwich that defies bread. Whatever.

Highlights include:
Industrial bacon and a sauce of unknown origin. In the hand, it feels like a greasy paperweight. This is not a guilty pleasure. More like an endurance test. Too bad chewing isn’t better exercise.

If you can call a double meat-patty a sandwich, rather than just a pile of food.

Springfield’s Horseshoe Sandwiches Deliver a Kick in the Gut
Illinois Capital Keeps Upping Caloric Ante; One Local Delicacy Equals Five Big Macs

by decent e » Wed Mar 31, 2010 8:13 pm

I’ve eaten one or two of those. I mostly stayed away, but I knew people who would order them on a regular basis. This was mostly in southern Illinois. The horseshoe definitely made its way down toward St. Louis from Springfield, but I guess they’re still more common up that way.

Bread, meat, a pile of fries, all covered with cheese sauce pretty much describes the ones I saw. The meat could be almost anything though. Hamburger patty might’ve been the most common, but I even saw some kind of weird processed turkey being used – I guess that was supposed to be the “healthy” option!

by Buck Stopshere » Wed Mar 31, 2010 8:47 pm

I guess the St. Louis “Slinger” is some derivative of the horseshoe.
Hamburger patty.
Hash Browns.
2 Eggs.
Covered with chili, grated cheese, and chopped onions.
Brian

decent e » Wed Mar 31, 2010 9:59 pm

Never tried a Slinger. Even ate at the Eat-Rite and the Courtesy a time or two, but couldn’t bring myself to order one of those.

My favorite food monstrosity was a thing I found near the outskirts of Champaign, IL called a “Haystack”. If I remember right, it was a hamburger patty with cheese, covered with home fries, and then sausage gravy over the whole thing.

Yeah, looks like size matters when it comes to horseshoes.
Not so with Slingers.
They seem to be relatives in some way though.
I remember Mark Spencer tellin’ me about the “Hot Hamburg”, from his native Vermont area.
Seemed like a distant relative, some kinda hamburger, open faced on white bread, with peas, brown gravy, and maybe somethin’ else?
Mashed potatoes?
I’m not even certain about the peas.
Maybe Creston could elaborate?
Slingers, Hot Hamburgs, Horseshoes.
All meals, fully covered in some kinda somethin’.
Mark Spencer fell madly for the Slinger, I remember one time I was on the road, as the “opening act”, with him and Jay Farrar, we went to a grocery store, bought the ingredients, and Mark made them, in a hotel room (that had a kitchen…), in Los Angeles, for a Super Bowl party we threw for ourselves.
We bought a Superbowl cake an’ everything.
There are photos of that party somewhere.
Just the 3 of us.
Probably within’ spittin’ distance of Andrea’s apartment, we were walkin’ distance from the Knitting Factory.
I remember we got on Mark’s computer, and tried to find some local inflatable Beer/Superbowl themed party chairs we could buy.
Never found any, but, we had SLINGERS!
Brian

decent e » Sat Apr 03, 2010 11:52 am

Speaking of culinary monstrosities, remember when we were talking about the KFC sandwich that has a “bun” made of chicken? Well, its coming soon and its got a freakin’ countdown clock:

KFC’s Bacon Sandwich On Fried Chicken “Bread” Starts Killing People Nationwide April 12
The Consumerist

decent e » Sun Apr 18, 2010 10:41 am

Here’s another “sandwich monstrosity” I ran across online. Apparently inspired by something served at a restaurant in Virginia.
The Hamburger Fatty Melt, a Burger with Two Grilled Cheese Sandwiches as Its Bun

Hot Rod Girl Tue Apr 20, 2010 9:17 am

Ms. Snack, there is a restaurant/bar up the street from us whose menu is largely made up of grilled cheese sandwich variations. It’s called the 44th Ward Dinner Party. Overpriced, but tasty.

And they do understand the first rule of grilled cheese sandwiches, which is that they MUST be cut on the diagonal. PBJs, on the other hand, must be cut straight across. That’s just the way it is done.

KFC Double Down Success?

Sandwich thief leaves cash behind.

I think Subway might take more issue with this accompanying photo of what appears to be a bacon buddy then they would to the “sandwich thief.” Image, after all, is everything, if you are Subway, where substance is ephemeral.

US police have said a burglar broke into a Subway store and proceeded to help himself to a selection of cold cuts to make sandwiches, but left the store’s cash behind.

Sergeant Lori Lavorato said the thief got inside the shop in Iowa through a drive-up window on Saturday night or Sunday morning.

Ms Lavorato added that the burglar made some sandwiches and took a significant amount of cold cut meats, bread and cookies, but that he failed to find the store’s cash, which was hidden.

Police have no suspects.

Well, of course he left the cash, he was a sandwich thief!!

Read more: http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/breaking-news/offbeat/sandwich-thief-leaves-cash-behind-14819194.html#ixzz0oz0mE8qs

Another version, slight variation:

A burglar took sandwiches, but left the store’s cash behind

DES MOINES, Iowa — Des Moines police are investigating a sandwich heist at a Subway restaurant.

Authorities say someone broke into the shop on Saturday night or Sunday morning and took a “substantial amount” of cold cut meats. They also took bread and cookies and made some sandwiches before they left.

No money was taken, and police didn’t offer an estimated value on the missing food.

Investigators believe the burglars broke in through the drive-up window and removed a security cage.

Police have no suspects.

A sandwich heist! Count me in. Count on me for no estimated value. Count down to cold cuts. Cold cuts are down for the count when it comes to a heist. Count me in. Count me down. I’m down with the heist! There’s no accounting for a person discounting, down counting, counting down on the estimated value of a cold cut heist. On no account!

Caracas Arepas Bar in NYC

I have been by this joint, Caracas Arepas Bar in NYC – I took this barely adequate snapshot – but I have not been inside, nor eaten their fare. Headed back from Porchetta on E. 7th and staggering with satisfaction, Caracas Arepa Bar rose up behind the line of parked cars and I snapped it for future reference.

Arepas are close cousins to sandwiches, and they are something I have only eaten in my own kitchen. Other than that, my sole arepa experience is the smell of them wafting onto the street in the East Village. Next time we will approach this street from the Caracas end, rather than the Porchetta end, although I may have to eat twice.

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Mike, of ComicsDC, turned me on to this arepas tale penned by one of my favorite food writers, Jonathan Kauffman, who most certainly does not need a recommendation from little young me.

Arepas on the Run

A South American sandwich full of flavor, or just plain full.

By Jonathan Kauffman
Wednesday, Jul 7 2010

In the taxonomy of sandwiches — the grinders and the pita pockets, the panini and the smørrebrød — there is one commonality that separates the sandwich from all other classes in the handheld food phylum: the bread. The Venezuelan arepa thus ends up in limbo. A thick, soft corn cake, split like an English muffin and filled with almost anything, including cheese and vegetables, the arepa is the platypus of handheld foods — belonging to both the sandwich and the tortilla-pupusa classes.

Mr. Pollo, an Ecuadoran-Columbian arepas shop in San Francisco, is run by Mr. Angelo Vaca. I am already more than warm to the place purely because it has a Ecuadoran connection with a man named Vaca. In my mind, after a recent “appliance technician” experience, I am forever bound in spirit to a Mr. Vaca from Ecuador. My Mr. Vaca, Mr. Jofre Vaca, Fridgeman and Natural Healer.

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Up early. Open the fridge door and it feels…funny…tepid. Is it me or is it the fridge? Press my palm to the shelf for that cool impress and…nope…room temp, July room temp, like a warm swimming pool.

Sent a 7 am email and got an immediate response! The fridge guy could touch down later the same day in the two-hour window that suited me. Suited ME! Two prime hours when we could convene. A remarkably well-timed rendez vous.

He was an apparition, remarkably unremarkable in appearance, although surrounded by an aura of calm and capability. “I will need a large bowl,” he said. “And now a small plastic bag. And a large towel.”

Before too long the diagnosis was done. “Your refrigerator’s computer needs a part.” Computer?? Since when do fridges need computers?

“I can only be home on Saturday,” I said.

“I will be here on Saturday,” replied my angel of mercy.

Saturday?? O. Kay. You work on a day that is convenient for your customers? Really?? Bathe me in your aura. Blanket me in your vibe. Take me to your planet.

This man was no ordinary appliance repair guy. Oh no, he was so much more – not that repairing appliances is anything at which to sniff. He was…whoooosh, drum roll, rustle of angel wings…a fridgeopath. Sent to me from on high. Via four years of training in natural medicine in Ecuador. I know because he told me. I must have looked receptive. And desperate.

“Do you have someone to take care of you?”

“No.”

“Then you must take care of yourself,” he replied. “I studied natural medicine for four years in Ecuador. Let me see your hands.”

He examined the backs of my hands thoughtfully, stroking the lines of the veins professionally. This was a man with a nurturing fridgeside manner. My mind went empty, ready to absorb his wisdom.

“You need more massages.”

“I will take that as free license,” I answered.

“How do you sleep?” he asked with a knowing look in his eye. His answer was in my expression. “Drink linden tea. Tap the front of your shoulders like this, for better breathing.” He demonstrated on himself. Tap, tap, tap. My head lolled in relaxation just watching him.

I took Jofre Vaca’s advice to heart and to head, and into the hands of Silvia for reiki and massage. And I tapped – in the car, standing at the stove, lying in bed. Linden tea looks and smells like the flowers it is. Nice, like flowers. Like flowers at rest. I slept the sleep one sleeps when refrigerated.

Saturday arrived, Mr. Vaca arrived, just as promised, on the dot, computer part in hand. So he said. I did not see it, nor did I look. The proof was in the coldness of the glass shelf on my palm.

“You look much better,” he said, taking notice of my hands.

“I think the dishwasher will be on the fritz next week,” thought I.

Print by Richard Blackmore

Coveting butter has become more common than consummating breakfast with butter. Do we still eat toast or has the indulgence of crisp brownness been done away with by divine fiat, the science of bagels or the burden of commuting?

If you read no further, read this: Find Rebel Heroes! Find them on Twitter and GO!

The authentic effort, dedication, humor, swagger and class is obvious. Rebel Heroes is a class attack.

We do want more heroes. Who do we have these days anyway? We must turn to lunch and its defendants.

From Sorry-Birds Ellen:
“Finally got a sandwich from Rebel Heroes, and finally am writing about it, ugh hectic summer life! I had their Cubano which was super tasty…loved the fresh bread and the pork and melted cheese hit the spot. Wren came along (of course) and cooed and oohed as I licked my lips. I think she is going to grow up and be a rebel! It’s lunchtime, off to find their truck again.”

I came upon Rebel Heroes one day unexpectedly, and was starved, and had a spare hour. Simultaneous opportunity and serendipity  blow me away. It can almost be too much. But it wasn’t. It was Righteous Pork Roast and a Vietnamese iced coffee. I do not know a drink that turns my blood into a super highway better than Vietnamese iced coffee. With EZPass at 400 mph.

Rebel rebel, your face is no mess, Wrenny.  You are a dish of a girl. Bubbling up all happy and tasty out of the sauce. My face met the Righteous Pork and was a righteous mess. And my hands and my lap, too. Perched there on a wall, with my rebel yellwich drip, drip, dripping. Aiiee, it was tasty. Those wiches are heroes. Let me emulate their bold, proud, streetwise goodness.

Tails Up!
According to a source as reliable as the horoscope, those born on December 24th, which is my birthdate, should be mindful of whether “the dog is wagging the tail, or the tail is wagging the dog.” No comment. When these sorts of experts hit the nail so hard on the head that the nail sinks through to China, it’s a bit freaky. My imaginary tail is one that wags so hard it takes me off my feet, clears coffee tables, and unsteadies me. Not quite to the point of toppling, but definitely to teetering.

The other day I had the pleasure of styling all these rockin’ dogs for theWashington Post Express. After a two-week vacation, this was the perfect job for re-entry. The online version does not show the credits so I will take care of shouting it.
MARGE ELY did the photography and LISA CHERKASKY did the styling.

For a food that’s the all-star of the American summer picnic, the hot dog often seems in need of an extreme makeover. Sure, dousing franks in ketchup, mustard and relish might be as patriotic as cheering for the Nationals. But there’s no reason to limit what you put on a dog to the old red, yellow and green standbys.

“The great thing about hot dogs? You can do so much with them,” says Red Apron Butchery’s Nathan Anda, who hearts Chicago-style dogs. To create a Windy City wiener, Anda insists on poppy-seed buns (preferably steamed) dressed with a salad bar’s worth of veggies (pickles, peppers, tomatoes, onions).

“Hot dogs are crowd-pleasers for both kids and adults,” says Katie Lee, author of “The Comfort Table” ($25, Simon Spotlight). “They’re perfect for groups. Everyone can customize their dog.” Lee sets up a bar full of different toppings, so each person can pick different combos, from simple mustard to a smorgasbord of sliced meats and cheeses.

So, whether you prep a Brit curry relish for a veggie bratwurst, saute onions for a sausage, or make your own mustard for a classic Oscar Mayer you-know-what, here are some ways to wag your dog.

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Mimi and Richard Fariña were a superglam couple to me when I was a tiny girl, looking up into the world of adults and music and California and motorcycles and all that. I bet they were mustard, not mayonnaise eaters, spread their own mustard, one hand at time. Richard got turned upside down hard, unfortunately, way too soon.

Thanks to Mike at ComicsDC!

Spit and string is all you really need. Wish I had a third hand so you could hold it while I scrape the toast with the other two.

Feeling extravagant, exuberant, euphoric?  Rich with clichés? A hope and a prayer? A song and dance? Dogs and ponies? Bring it all on. Count me in, a bit battered and bruised, but all in just the same. More so. Nothing a cute bandaid can’t remedy.

Rejoice when reality exceeds expectation. We did it at Porchetta. The bar was sky high.

The sandwich soared. When pigs fly and all that.



Color me delivered.

Shopping in Whole Foods a while back, picked up a loaf of bread in one of those stiff, crinkly, noisy plastic bags. Sharp cuts in the top crust, baked to steel blade toughness, had sliced the bag limb to limb. “Yikes,” I said to the bakery clerk, “This is some dangerous bread.” “You could CUT yourself on that bread!” she said.


Tofu bread, sharp as a stropped razor, lining the shelves in the east village. What would you put in it? Meat? Tofu? Metal filings?