
My name is Scott, and last night I ate a KFC Double Down sandwich.
The Double Down, for those of you fortunate enough to be unaware, is a “sandwich” consisting of bacon, Monterey Jack cheese, pepper jack cheese, and the Colonel’s Double Secret Probation Sauce. However, instead of using bread, they pack all that between two boneless chicken strips. All our favorite barnyard byproducts — chicken, pig, and cow — together at long last in beautiful, artery-clogging harmony.
They call it a sandwich, but that is a misnomer. Sandwiches use bread as a substrate. In fact, the first sentence of Wikipedia’s Sandwich states, “A sandwich is a food item consisting of two or more slices of bread with one or more fillings between them.” But the Double Down, my friends, is not a sandwich. It’s something entirely different, requiring a name that truly expresses the contrivance. I choose to call it a “meatheap.”
The very first time I heard about this meatheap, I honestly thought it was a joke. Some half-cocked viral marketing scheme cooked up by hip young ad agencies trying to make waves on the interblogoTwitFace. But then I heard about the test markets in Nebraska and Rhode Island, where people were actually buying and consuming these things. I knew at that moment — somehow, someday — I would consume a Double Down Sandwich Meatheap.
I’ve always had something of a penchant for test-driving awful fast food products. I generally find they manifest themselves as burgers with a few extra iterations of the meat-cheese-bacon loop (see the Burger King Quad Stacker and the Wendy’s Triple Baconator for examples of what I’ve shoveled into my gullet over the years.) But the Double Down struck me as something more… exotic. It was fresh and new and exciting and something I MUST HAVE RIGHT NOW.
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