Monday, May 24, 2010

The Club Sandwich Mouth Massacre

A club sandwich is a simple thing. Simple ingredients, simply prepared. But so dastardly and destructive, it should come with a warning sign.

Though truth be told, a big, bold print warning wouldn't keep me from eating a club sandwich when the mood strikes.

Even though I know what comes next. The Mouth Massacre.

Yes, much like my beloved patty melt (maybe I have a thing for food that hurts me, but more on that in another post), club sandwiches leave my mouth feeling like the Incredible Hulk's purple pants. Shredded.

I had a surprising good club sandwich this weekend. With a really surprisingly good order of onion rings to go along with it. Hm... I was going to write that despite the tastiness of that meal it wasn't worth the pain that's only recently subsided.

But I can't write that. Because recreating the meal in my mind just now has got my newly-healed mouth watering.

Screw it. Forget this whole post. Club sandwiches rule, bits of flesh dangling from the roof of my mouth be damned!

It won't be the last time I suffer for food.

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