“I’ll have what she’s having.”
If only I’d said that.
Instead, I said, “I’d like the chicken club.”
And this is what I got.
A delicious sandwich, to be sure, but not a club. No way, no how.
Dunnings has three “clubs” listed on its menu. And I saw someone at an adjacent table eating a club-looking club sandwich—double-decker, lettuce, tomato, etc. She must have known what to order. Counterintuitively, not the Chicken Club. The “Chicken Club” is a chicken breast, topped with bacon and melted provolone and served warm on a fluffy white bun. No frill picks, no veggies, no toast, nothing in common with a club sandwich, except the bacon.
This anti-club wasn’t bad. In fact, for a non-club-sandwich sandwich, it was pretty tasty. The bacon was plentiful, slightly chewy, cozy warm. The cheese was melty in the middle, grilled-crispy on the sides. The chicken itself was moist. I think it really could have used some lettuce and tomato, but that might just be my club-sandwich wistfulness speaking.
If only I’d said that.
Instead, I said, “I’d like the chicken club.”
And this is what I got.
A delicious sandwich, to be sure, but not a club. No way, no how.
Dunnings has three “clubs” listed on its menu. And I saw someone at an adjacent table eating a club-looking club sandwich—double-decker, lettuce, tomato, etc. She must have known what to order. Counterintuitively, not the Chicken Club. The “Chicken Club” is a chicken breast, topped with bacon and melted provolone and served warm on a fluffy white bun. No frill picks, no veggies, no toast, nothing in common with a club sandwich, except the bacon.
This anti-club wasn’t bad. In fact, for a non-club-sandwich sandwich, it was pretty tasty. The bacon was plentiful, slightly chewy, cozy warm. The cheese was melty in the middle, grilled-crispy on the sides. The chicken itself was moist. I think it really could have used some lettuce and tomato, but that might just be my club-sandwich wistfulness speaking.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment