Goodbye Mister Fritter

this clip is from my college days… 

if you’re on a quest for the worst chicken sandwich this side of Sochi, I believe I may have found it for you. I don’t want to give away the exact location, but it is residing…and deteriorating…in that oasis of fine cuisine known as “Ohio.” The said speciman was inedible following a major mastication exercise, which failed to extract a core sample.

The distinction for worst chicken sandwich ever is reserved for the infamous “Mister Fritter,” a now extinct prepared pre-frozen patty that resembled a country fried hockey puck with a sledgehammer-like hint of fish.

Mister Fritter shared the shelf with Mrs Paul’s Fish Sticks. One of my colleagues grabbed the other box to bring home to cook- hence, my introduction to Mister Fritter.

While baking, the fritter emitted an odoriferous fog of stench from the cavern-oven, warning all who gathered their patties to “bite with care.” And that is just what I did while burning the roof of my mouth.

On the second attempt, I discovered a spoiled-fish-like coating with a hint of aluminum pan. After painfully retching…I ordered the items dispersed in the back yard in order to keep the cockroaches, mice, and other vermin away from the house. After several days, they remained untouched by weather or critter; the potent breaded grease pucks remained unchanged.

When the chicken patties refused to deteriorate, we hid them deep within a trash bag and sent them to patty hell, otherwise known as the county dump. If I were a betting man, I would bet that they are still there, years after disposal, unchanged and unfettered. Long live Mister Fritter!



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7 responses to “Goodbye Mister Fritter”

  1. Total yuck. Reminds me of the McD sandwich found after 10 years in a jacket pocket alive and in fair condition. Makes me wonder how anyone can decompose with all the superpreservatives in our system. oooo….maybe we don’t anymore…..ewwww……

  2. That sounds like a culinary horror show – which makes me wonder?
    Are you sure it is still at the dump? Maybe it is on its way back, slowly slug-like inching along leaving a shiny oozing grease trail behind. Ick.

  3. Y’know, it’s an odd thing, but I’m really not on a quest for the worst chicken sandwich. But you have reaffirmed my decision not to eat meat. It gives me a neat out in case anyone offers me one of those sandwiches. Or a bite of theirs.

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