"Pirisaurus Crepe"

This was not the highlight of my sandwiching career. I had set out with high aspirations: I was going to make six crepes total, three crepes each. The first would have bacon sauteed mushrooms, the second would be filled with spicy sausage and piri piri chicken, and the third would be filled with chocolate chips and strawberries.

But this did not happen.

I made half of a batch of crepe batter, as the recipe said a full batch would make twenty crepes. Before this, I thought crepes were easy. My grandmother and mother each make dozens of crepes in one shot, I'd seen it countless times before! Surely I, the self-proclaimed Sandwich Samurai, would be able to make a meagre six. Nope. I threw out the first crepe as it both sucked and blew, and somehow only had enough batter for two more. Frazzled by all the cooking meats around me, I decided to go for a one-course crepe that combined the first two crepes' ingredients while leaving out the last entirely. It was still pretty good, but it was certainly a step down from what I'd initially set out to crepe-ate (and eat).

BOO!

"The Dark Knight"

Sometimes you are so hungry you could eat a cow. Or, depending on what geographic cards chance has dealt you, an emu, elephant, or muskox. But sometimes, the 7.5 Richter rumblings in your stomach defy lines on a map and reach such a fever pitch of starvation that your gastronomic yearnings reach a whole new level of metaphoric hyperbole. In those situations, you have to eat the Batman. With that in mind, I give you the Dark Knight.

INGREDIENTS

1 veal roast (roast beef is preferable, but I had to make do with a deplorably depleted Provigo)

1 loaf pumpernickel (also a debatable choice because it turns to mush with any sauce)

12 mushrooms

1 dark beer

Sauerkraut

INSTRUCTIONS

1. Roast veal. On a BBQ if you have one, and on a fire built out of the rest of your belongings if you haven't, because clearly the rest of your shit must be worthless.
2. Place veal in sandwich with some mushrooms sauteed in the dark beer, and add some moutarde and sauerkraut to taste.
3. Watch the Dark Knight and reflect, when you are occassionally not being overwhelmed by such an awesome movie, how great a slice of awesomeness you've apportioned yourself from your excellent sandwich-making.

THE REVIEW.

1. THE BREAD

Rich, mahogany pumpernickel certainly kept in theme  with the dark hero, but it didn't daringly plunge down my esophagus to grab at my secret stomach lining taste buds. Why doesn't Batman dance anymore? KEITH'S.

2. THE MEAT

See?

I know for a fact, being rather close with the chef, that he had intended for a nice beef roast rather than a tender veal roast, but our butcher (i.e major chain grocery store) fell through. Said butcher will likely find bat-shaped ninja stars lodged in his chest in the very near future, as per the chef's concept of justice being closely linked to shiny and pointy things being hurled through the air, but I think it still turned out pretty delicious. I love a good grilled roast, and when we cut the strings of the roast, soft meaty goodness just sort of ooze-ploded outwards... and then inwards. UNIBROUE.


3. REST

Moutard and stale stout-sauteed shrooms made up the rest of this sandwich. The mushrooms seemed to be one of those things that would have been conceptually more tasty than they actually wound up, and the moutard was of our delicious Whiskey variety. Even still, it did little to sweep me off my feet in the face of Gotham's handsome and charming D.A. BELLE GUEULLE.




4. THE OVERALL GUT-BUSTING DELISIOSITY

This was a pretty good sandwich, but, being named after the greatest superhero movie ever (sorry Mr. Burton), I thought my stomach would feel like it was assassinated by two villains and a deeply doured demigod united towards a common cause, and, it quite simply wasn't. Then again, maybe that was really for the best. KEITH'S.

5. THE OUTLANDISHNESS

I think the outlandishness would have received top marks if the chef had used his super-artistry powers to carve up some bat-wiches, though chances are I may have eaten his hand (or at the very least gnawed at it uncomfortably) if he had tried. Even still, this sandwich was missing a bit of Batman's undeniable style and flair, and for said reason, it gets a BELLE GUEULLE. Sorry, Robin.

"Corn in the Coop"

I know I said that I would never dare make my own bread again - but I tend to vacillate and dither on my definitive and decisive statements, particularly when it comes to my renouncing of things. For instance, I've renounced pants about a dozen times since the first day I could pull off a pair of shorts this summer, but when goosepumps came to shudders, I would hesitantly acquiesce to breaking out a pair of jeans.

Yet I digress.

I know I said that I would never dare make my own bread again, but when I came up with the idea of making cornbread for a pertly named chicken and egg sandwich, I just couldn't resist. I was also thrilled to discover that baking cornbread was actually more like baking cookies than bread - no yeast, to waiting, no fuss, and certainly no muss.


This was a pretty straightforward sandwich, with its deliciousness lying in its simplicity:

1) cornbread
2) grilled chicken thighs doused in smoke spice and spicy tequila BBQ sauce
3) a sunny side up egg, sprinkled with pepper, fried in some butter

The only thing that went somewhat wrong was that the cornbread was so dense, it just fell apart when you picked it up. It was also so dense that it sat in my stomach for hours, conjuring nary an appetite  for dinner later. That's not to say I didn't have any, though.

THE REVIEW

Nothing slips more smoothly down the esophagus than a sweet series of alliteration. But if the devout sandwich pilgrim desires a sweetening of the pot, he/she should put in that little extra effort to concoct a pun to help things slide down all the more delightfully. And what better than some 'Corn in the Coop', the most stomach-tinglingly punny hoagie this side of Old Mother Hubbard's backyard chicken roost, to wash down over lunch with a tall glass of cow maternity juice.

THE BREAD

Cornbread, that devoted staple of cowboys and California hippies, makes up the delightful pair of pastries encircling this 'wich. Homebaked, straight out of the oven and onto the plate, what more can you ask for? Perhaps some bread that doesn't disintegrate comically in your hands (it was the trick candle of the magical eating disappearing act world), but that was of little consequence. Arrogant bastard 5/5

THE MEAT

Once there was a lonely high-school nerd named Bill. Pimple-faced, gangly, notorious for getting picked last. One day poor little Bill was walking home and saw a group of gorgeous women settling around a grill in the afternoon sun. Then and there he resolved to become wealthy and powerful enough to have the same power as that grill. That, my friends is the story of how barbequed chicken started Microsoft. Not surprisingly, it worked similar wonders on this sandwich. Shake on some tequila sauce, and you're staring down a feast more delicious than any forlorn desert cowboy could have dreamed of while snuggling his horse. Shame on the chef for so cunningly exploiting my culinary weakness. Arrogant Bastard 5/5

THE REST

Now typically, I borrow my life philosophy from Samuel L in 'The Spirit'. I don't like egg on my face. Unless that egg comes from a sandwich whose cup so overfloweth with delicious juices, chickens and eggs that it hath nowhere else to go but onto my face. That, my friends, is a glob I'll gladly accept on my face. Unibroue. 4/5

THE OUTLANDISHNESS

This sandwich was a strike right outta left field. Unexpected and surprisingly delicious, it arose like the Cloverfield monster out of nowhere to wreak havoc on my tastebuds and sock me a good solid punch to the gut. Preposterous? Perhaps not, but still a damn delicious gastrointestinal pal to have winding his way through my belly. Unibroue 4/5

THE OVERALL

I enjoyed this sandwich so much, I briefly contemplated leaving Sofia for it. Unfortunately, our passionate romance (between the sandwich and I, not that old Italian bag) burned too fast and too bright to last longer than it took me to open and close my mouth twenty-nine times. And so, desolate and lonely, I had to abandon my dreams of an exclusive sandwich-love future, and go back to the depressingly much-less-edible girl with whom I reside. Arrogant Bastard. 5/5

"The Drunken Count of Monte Cristo"

There's a Monte Cristo sandwich, there's the best Monte Cristo sandwich, i.e., the Count, and then there's the Drunken Count of Monte Cristo sandwich. And that's what I eventually chose to embark on.
 
Initially, I had set out for the mere title of the Count of Monte Cristo. I figured I could just destroy any ordinariness associated with the typical hero and bump it up a few notches of excellence. But then a trip to the Atwater Market, in combination with our already alcoholic themed spice cabinet, took it to an even greater level. Here is a list of the Count's boozy auxiliaries:

1. Johnny Walker Red (already in possession)
2. Club House Limited Edition Wild Whiskey Smoked BBQ Spice (already in possession)
3. President's Choice Tequila Habanero BBQ Sauce (already in possession)
4. Crunchy Grainy Whiskey Mustard (newly acquired)
5. Aged Whiskey Cheddar (newly acquired)

It quickly became obvious that the Count had been hitting the bottle when he hit the table. But the remaining ingredients contained less moonshine and more muscle:




1. Pork Tenderloin. This is a favourite of mine: tender, moist, safe to serve on the raw side, and always a quick cook. Despite the Countless (hahaha!) times I've prepared this meat, I've never tried to braise it... how could it possibly be more tender?!? I had to find out.

First I seared it quickly with the Wild Whiskey Smoked BBQ Spice and Tequila Habanero BBQ Sauce to give it a crispy, tipsy crust. Then I placed it in some Braisin' Brine.






2. Braisin' Moonshine Brine. I have to say, when this was complete, I feared it would be too boozy to be enjoyed as a result of its pungent odour. Chicken broth, water, SO MUCH Johnny Walker Red, and another healthy dose of Wild Whiskey Smoked BBQ Spice. Allow to sit in 450 degree oven as long as patience will allow. Roughly 30 minutes. The pork was removed, sliced, and placed back into the Braisin' Brine to soak and make it even more succulent, but a select cup or two went on to do bigger and better things.


3. The Sauce. Some of the Braisin' Brine was simmered down to 50% of its original volume, mixed with a dash of flour and maple syrup for thickness and sweetness, and strained to remove any unattractive chunks that would make my neuroses nervous. Served in a tumbler beside the finished product. Which brings me to the last but certainly not least delicious portion of the proceedings.

4. The Bread. I did a good job with this considering I thought it would be a quasi-failure. Originally, I wanted to buy an unsliced loaf of brioche or challah (Jewish egg bread) for some thick, home-sliced French Toast (which is, as anyone with any propensity of predilection towards sandwiches knows, the defining aspect between the Monte Cristo and a boring ham and cheese sandwich), but, amazingly enough, I couldn't locate any in a French Canadian market place. I ended up getting some individual challah buns at a major chain grocer. I then delicately cut off the crusts with a gentle touch, doused them in a simple egg, cinnamon, and vanilla mix, and let them brown in some butter. But what, you ask on the edge of your seat in anticipation, happens next?

5. The Rest. Melt some Whiskey Aged Cheddar on one side of the french toast as the second side cooks, smear Crunchy Grainy Whiskey Mustard on the opposite slice, load with slices of Moonshine Brined pork, and pour the sauce over top.

Damn I'm good.

THE REVIEW

For those uninitiated with the diversity of breakfast sandwiches (and I must ashamedly now admit that I appear to be one of them), the Monte Cristo is a ham and cheese served between two dripping slices of french toast and NOT, as I had childishly supposed, a daring sandwich of lost love, daring escapes, immense fortunes and revenge. The very idea of a sandwich that could accomplish such dizzying heights of perfection is a notion too fantastic to imagine. Unless it is an ESP sandwich. And so my mouth approached it with the highest of expectations. To find out, dear reader, if it lived up to its name or was banished to the deepest cells of the Chateau d'If, read on.*

*WARNING: Many Count of Monte Cristo reference will be made in this review. My advice: go read the book before sitting down to digest this review. Or the sandwich, for that matter.

THE BREAD

Now there's a problem faced when evaluating a sandwich that ALREADY EXISTS. Though it contradicts all the tenets of the ESP constitution regarding boldness, daring and originality, I had never had a Monte Cristo before, so I'll treat everything as new, regardless of the consequences.

FRENCH TOAST AS BREAD??! How incredibly absurd. Only a mad-man would attempt to incorporate something that stands alone as a full meal into the delivery device for a further meal! If it hadn't already been done millions of times before, I'd be prepared to eat my socks over the very proposition. Instead I got to eat this, and it was AMAZING. Ten revenge stabs out of ten. Arrogant Bastard. 5/5

THE MEAT

Ham is for children. An entire pork roast is the meal for a man so manly he spends a vast fortune destroying everyone who even sneezed on him without apologizing. Generously douse that roast in Jack Daniels, tequila BBQ sauce and whiskey mustard, and you've got yourself some meat to make Chuck Norris whimper in fear. Put that pork in a sandwich and you're facing down a tower of protein so prolific to make the Old Spice guy AND the Dos Equis grandpa shit their pants. Five public shame-ings resulting in suicide out of five. Arrogant Bastard. 5/5

THE REST

The sandwich was generously accompanied by my choice of a Whiskey Aged Cheddar and some Whiskey mustard. Not terribly inventive, but sometimes less is more, and this way I got to focus on the meat and booze. You'd think the chef knew me well, or something. seven staged kidnappings out of eight. Unibroue. 4/5

DELICIOSITY

Now the Monte Cristo is supposed to be a breakfast sandwich, and though delicious is delicious at any time of day, this version of the MC would have gone down SPECTACULARLY in the a.m. Especially if served with a meaty breakfast drank like a Cesar to kick off an indulgent day of languor. Still great, but, as Dantes would counsel, you must know when to pick your battle. Serve this up after a heavy night of imbibing, and this sandwich would be OUT OF THIS WORLD. Arrogant Bastard, 5/5

THE OUTLANDISHNESS

Adding some whiskey to a sandwich already widely available at your local Denny's, while a thoroughly appreciated addition (and a change that would absolutely change my aversion to Denny's), is about as outlandish as taking off your pants at Seaworld. It's simply been done too many times to shock anyone any more. Blame the availability of child porn, if you must, but a Drunken Count just doesn't have the same power to shock the taste-buds anymore. A slithering 3 denouncing-your-friend-to-a-revolutionary-tribunals out of 9. Belle Gueule.

Food baby.

Though revenge is a dish served cold, this version of the Count found that everyone's much happier when you add a healthy splash of whiskey in your sandwich.

The Chili Chicken Gut-Bustinator

It's simple. You've come from the future, and everyone knows time travel isn't easy on the stomach. So the first thing you've got to do when touching down in the past is fuel up. And what, you might whimper, is the best choice of fuel? Why, only the CHILI CHICKEN GUT BUSTINATOR, the leanest, meanest, most pant-poppingly, waist-stretchingly, bowel-movement-so-huge-it-clogs-the-toiletlingly amazing sandwich yet produced by the fine people here at ESP. Check out the recipe and review below.

INGREDIENTS
1 can diced tomatoes	400g ground beef
1 can beans, assorted	2 idaho potatoes
li>2 large chicken breasts	4 kaiser rolls
2 beets	all the fixins fit for a BBQ

THE INSTRUCTIONS
1. Make chili (grill the meat, add the beans and tomatoes and let simmer for an hour on low. Add cumin, chili powder, salt, pepper and everything else in your spice rack)
2. Add chicken to chili and let simmer for an hour or so, or at least until it's soft and tender as some nubile breasts.
3. Slice up the potatoes into very thin cross sections, toss them with olive oil, sat, pepper and basil. Arrange them on a tray and cook for about 45mins at 450 degrees.
4. Peel the beets and boil them for an hour.
5. Once everything is ready, toast your buns. Get ready for the great gut-bustination.
6. Take two forks to the chicken in the chili and split it up. Take some major spoonfuls of the chili chicken and glob them onto a bun. Top with a layer of potato chips and sliced beets. And prepare to have your gut busted.
7. Experiment! Add some cheese and play with the spices you use. We've taken to slobbering the whole thing with Tequila BBQ sauce. In fact, incorporating ingenius booze treats in the 'wich is highly encouraged.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Let me set the context for this sandwich before I review it.

It had been a week since I’d seen John while he was away on [ski] business: in this week I seemed to have drank significantly more than I ate. This resulted in my sleeping through the alarm that I had set to catch a bus to Boston to visit a very dear friend of mine, though in my defence, I was likely mildly concussed. Fortunately, in being the self-proclaimed well-connected uber-genius that I am, I managed to snaggle a ride to the United States of Murrca with an acquaintance I’d met the night before. But I digress. The point is I was a wreck, and still wasn’t properly nourished as per the standards we’ve now set for ourselves when I set off on my Boston adventure. And the bus ride back to my home and native land involved me gnawing ravenously on the armrest of the seat of the person beside me, the lucky devil. I returned to Montreal unwell and unrested. But I was also privileged enough to return to Montreal to have this sandwich brewing in my kitchen.

THE REVIEW:

1.THE BREAD

Sesame seed Kaisers that turned to goo on my tongue. Fluffy, white, and completely void of flavour and nutrition. Generally, this is not my kind of bun. I actually hallowed it out so I could replace the airy dough with even more meat filling, and this very much tickled my fancy. I give these pillowy little guys a Keith’s.

2.THE MEAT

SO MUCH MEAT. Ground beef and chicken breast melded into one to form a chili-like paste of taste. And, much to my surprise and delight, it wasn’t overwhelmingly spiced with cumin. In fact, it wasn’t overly spiced at all, which, between the two of us, is quite the rarity. The chicken was pulled in pork-like fashion (my suggestion, which is quite possibly/probably the crux of the meal) to sop up all of the delicious juices in the pot. SO MUCH MEAT. And I was really, really, really craving it. Mmm. Arrogant Bastard.

3.THE REST

A can of diced tomatoes, some spices, and some beans. Personally, I would have put more diced tomatoes, but my diced tomato obsession is the biggest wedge I can think of in our romance (apparently I’m prohibited from purchasing more, even if they’re on sale), so I won’t dwell on the matter. It shan’t change the rating. The “rest” was suited to the sandwich, and it went a step beyond: the flat cut potato "chips" in the sandwich were a truly spectacular call on behalf of the chef. However, the addition of beets was odd and didn’t at all go with the rest of the sandwich, despite the copious rants and raves about how energy efficient they are, how they could feed all starving people, how they could save the world, etc. I just took them out of the sandwich… so I will take them out of the rating equation. Unibroue.

4.THE OVERALL GUT-BUSTING DELISIOSITY

It busted a gut. This is typically for me, unlike for John, a CON. I rather enjoy maintaining the resemblance of a figure and try not to eat until the point of needing to undo my pants. But, this time, after a week of salads and beer, it was a pro. Such a pro. Arrogant Bastard.

5.THE OUTLANDISHNESS

Not too outlandish… but sometimes, after a week of outlandish levels of outlandishness, you just need to come home to what you know and love. And way too much meat and white starch was just what the doctor ordered (N.B. I am a Guatemalan certified M.D.). I suppose one could deem the beets as rather unusual, too. Unibroue.

"A Pig in a Pig in a Blanket in a Blanket."

John will dispute this title of this sandwich, since the second 'pig' and first 'blanket' are the very same slice of bacon, but I say poppycock. It not only gives the title more zip, but it pays homage to my heroes at Epic Meal Time.  Sure, they may have turned down (read: completely ignored) my offer to star in an episode and consume their bacon laden meals, but we're still cool.


I thought this meal was going to be not too difficult. Grill some sausage, fry some bacon, arrange some fruit, nothing I haven't done before. But I decided to take on a new challenge - the challenge that is baking bread. It is important to note, before I begin my tale, that I can't bake. I try, I measure, I sift, I follow directions to a tee, but in the end, something is always amiss. And yet, being the daring individual that I am, I decided to throw caution to the wind and curse the bread gods. This is perhaps a poor decision when attempting to bake bread - bread which was sticky verging on gluey, which rose over the brink of the bowl, and which didn't end up tasting remotely like egg bread but was rather plain. Oh well. The mountain was climbed, flattened, then rolled up with grilled sausage, bacon, cock sauce, grainy mustard, and a slice of pineapple and apple for a hint of sweetness. The blankets were then embellished with smily faces and biologically accurate body parts. I forgot to mention that I am also a scientist.



THE DAMNING REVIEW
Now usually having a sandwich torn to shreds is a good thing; it means the 'wich is delicious, easily devoured, and a messy delight in the hands, on the face, and all over your shirt. It's a good thing. But the last arena in which you want your hoagie to get ripped to pieces is on the review board. The sandwich samurai is of the most unforgiving culinary persuasion. Cross him, and you may never get invited back to the table again. So, little piggy, prepare yourself to get sent packing and crying 'weeweeweeweewee' all the way home.





1. THE BREAD
Huge points go to the first lady of flatbread for taking the audacious and extremely ballsy step of baking her own blanket for the chilly pig in need of wrapping. Never mind that it turned out more bland than bannock baked by 16th Métis on a Prairie plain and looked like grandma had peeled off a layer of flabby elbow skin and slapped it down on a plate : this sandwich took an insane commitment to self-prostration at the hands of the oven. And though it certainly tasted nothing like the kosher egg-bread it was supposed to, I award this ambitious baking flub a full ARROGANT BASTARD. 5/5

2. THE MEAT
I'll be the first to admit that ever since May rolled around, I've been reminiscing of strolling through the Annex while noshing on Toronto's infamously delicious grilled street meat. My clearly competitive co-chef could have had nothing else in mind, aiming straight for my all-too-easily-satisfied and self-interesting gut by serving up some grilled weiners snuggled sumptuously beside a hefty helping of bacon inside that home-baked bread blanket of hers. I was helpless to resist (see Appendix: me-shoving-my-face below). Full marks. ARROGANT BASTARD. 5/5

3. THE REST
To round out this little invention, the spooning duo of meat was accompanied by a smattering of grilled pineapple and apple. In addition to the uninspiringly uncreative letdown of a duplication of apples, the inclusion of these tawdry fruits was anything but an extreme jungle adventure (see Haida Gwaii for a groin-grabbingly good time). Combined with the offensive taste-bud assault of too much Rooster Sauce, the overpowering and confusing spicy vs. sweet just didn't tickle my pickle in the least. I give this wilted pickle a mere BELLE GUEULE 2/5.

4. THE GUT-BUSTING DELICIOSITY
Though ambition is to be rewarded, particularly in the turbulent world of the ESP where chaos reigns, it should not distract from the hunt for a coherent and well-rounded 'wich. Shoot for the stars, by all means, but try to aim for a single galaxy cluster, lest ye be lost in the infinite realms of the cosmos. Sitting down for the pig in a pig in a blanket in a blanket, it's easy to get lost. Is it a tropical fruit bonanza? A street meat delight? Or a loaf of grandma's finest home-baked whole wheat? My tongue-buddies were blasted with scatter shot and never recovered. A middling KEITHS. 3/5


5. OVERALL OUTLANDISHNESS
All this writing is making me hungry, so I'll keep my final thoughts brief. Any sandwich artist so devoted to the timely perfection of their craft to go to great lengths, pains, and frustrations to bake their own bread is either a genius or a complete lunatic. With the current chef in question, I think the answer is obvious (note anatomical accuracy of the male members of the blanketed sammitzes). With that in mind, I award the Pig in a Pig in a Blanket in a Blanket top marks for outlandishness, and an overall total of ARROGANT BASTARD. 5/5

Clearly my love of sandwiches is too great to really rip a 'wich to shreds - I simply get nostalgic and reminisce over the sweet feel of a bulging bread-encased delicacy in my hands.

Until next week!

"The Haida Gwaii"

We had a couple of practice runs before the competitive aspect of the ESP took off, but without realizing how grand the sandwiches would be, which led to the urgent need to give them their own photoshoots, which then led to the compulsion to make them public spectacles of admiration and awe, we have no record of them. So before I go on to rate John's first solo creation and our first photo-documented Experimental Sandwich, "The Haidawaii," I would like to take a moment to remember both "The Wafflewich" (bacon, egg, sausage, jalapenos, and maple syrup in between two homemade waffles) and "The Savage" (slices of a sirloin roast wrapped in pork fat, grilled to bluish purple perfection, placed on grilled baguette with a mango, pear, radish and Jack Daniels chutney). You were wonderful sandwiches and I thoroughly enjoyed eating you both. Perhaps on an uncreative day you will be revisited.

But enough of the past! This "sandwich," if it can be called as such, was truly a work of art. I almost didn't want to eat it... but that notion was soon surpassed by my desire to eat it. And here is the verdict:

1. THE BREAD
A hollowed out pineapple can hardly be considered bread, but then again, this is the Experimental Sandwich Program. It still contained the rest of the sandwich's ingredients, and so its function was served. Plus I love the golden sweetness that is pineapple, especially when it's been lightly grilled. I give this a Unibroue.

2. THE MEAT
Ehhhh black forest ham is okay for a brown bag sandwich that you're preparing while brushing your teeth and pulling up your pants, but it's hardly the main meat-gredient of an ESP. It salvages extra points for having spicy Asian paste that was left in the fridge from the girl we're subletting from and for being grilled. Even still, Belle Gueulle.

3. THE REST
Sliced grapes, apple, and cucumber tossed in an abundance of chopped parsley and mint. Personally, I'm not a huge cucumber or mint fan, and the spices were overpowering. Ah geez this is harsh... Lucky Lager. (Note the sweet potato fries: these are my creation, and would still not constitute as a part of "The Rest" anyhow. Sandwich only.)

4. THE OVERALL GUT-BUSTING DELISIOSITY
This was hardly gutbusting... four slices of ham and a half of a pineapple's worth of fruit and vegetables.  Compared to the other meals that come out of our kitchen, this really seemed like more of a snack. But this is hardly a complaint - I like light fare and we ate it right before going to play tennis. It didn't slow down my lightning speed and reflexes. It gets a Keith's.

5. THE OUTLANDISHNESS
This was no sandwich. There was no bread, there were no condiments, and you didn't eat it with your hands. It looked more like a fruity drink an underage girl would order in Mexico than anything else. Here's where "The Haida Gwaii" makes up for lost points. 100% Arrogant Bastard Ale.