"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!