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!
The Lost Kerryman 