"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