Yes, I am referring to the chocolate-peanut butter Drake's snack cake. It won't be the first time you hear my Edna Turnblad ass talk about confections, and it surely won't be the last.
I am a woman of specifics. If I want a Taylor Ham Egg and Cheese on a Bagel (no punctuation, AND yes, full capitalization is required for terming that sandwich), I can't substitute for a fucking egg, bacon and cheese on a roll. Like, fuck you. Different worlds, different universes. I like my food the way I like it - my coffee, my sandwiches, my cake, even breakfast cereal. Anyone who has ever had the displeasure of standing on line with me at an eatery, or sitting with me while I order at a restaurant is all too familiar with this need for perfection that drives me to madness.
"Hi Miss, how are you? Oh, okay, um, I would like a sandwich - first of all, is your roast beef really, REALLY rare? Like, bloody? Can I see it?....Hmmm...okay, no - thanks though, for showing me - I'll have turkey. No, no, no mayo, mustard, nothing on it. Okay, one slice of provolone - actually, no, Swiss - I'll have tomato, lettuce, onion, umm...yeah that's it! Actually, can I have like, a DROP of vinegar?" - You get the point, and are now probably ready to throw up.
Linzoo, however, feels as though she should not have to apologize for such a thing. I am paying for the goods and services - the goods should be servicing me as perfectly as possible. And because I am the Howard Roark of delicatessens across the land, I get more fired up than you would think possible at what others might define as a simple error; a lapse in judgement. Linzoo, however, calls it a bone crushing fury fest, otherwise known as:
When people fuck up my sandwich.
OR, as the case was with last night, when people fuck up my sandwich so egregiously, I am unable to eat it - and the walk back to the deli is too far, so now instead of this dream of a perfectly crafted sandwich nourishing me, and my stomach, it is now wedged up my ass.
What I ordered: Turkey. Tomato. Lettuce. Oil/Vinegar. Round roll.
What I got: Ham. Turkey. Tomato. Lettuce. Onion. Peppers. Mayonnaise. Mustard. American Cheese.
Linzoo is a workin' woman, so as you can imagine, I was very much looking forward to my hearty, rustic sandwich. But when my nimble, and quivering fingers tore the paper open to reveal this PRETENDER, this courtesan sandwich - my face dropped, my fists clenched, and I hurled this creamy, cheesy disc of lies across my kitchen. Actually, that's a lie. I just got really angry, and conceded to a dinner of banana baby food. Totally the same as turkey on a roll.
In retrospect, I wonder how someone could even remotely make that mistake. I don't know what the fuck my sandwich crafter heard. It's like someone asking you to do a cartwheel for them, and you shoot them in the knee. My sandwich was like improvised jazz; it was like a Christopher Guest movie - except instead of being a quotable delight, it was horrible. Two different Universes. And we all know how Linzoo feels about her universes being the way she likes them.
And while I'm on the subject, and to neatly and comfortably bring this rant full circle, I need to speak for a moment about the state of Drake's snack cakes in local bodegas and delicatessens across the tri-state area. Now, at this point, I believe I have made it clear that the only Drake's cake in my life is a Funny Bone. I'm a one snack cake woman. I respect, support, and accept the love of other Drake's Cakes for other people, even though I may not feel the same way as others - it's called tolerance. HOWEVER. What I do not like is the fact that apparently you need to know how to crack the DiVinci code in order to get a simple package of Funny Bones in the borough of Brooklyn. Yodels? Sure! Ring Dings? Plenty! Sunny Doodles? Out our ass! Funny Bones? ......
You can't find them ANYWHERE - but this isn't even the thing that pisses me off. No, no, no. That kind of everyday disappointment has numbed me to things such as that. At this point, I would like to present my research and findings (Wikipedia) in order to fully back up my case:
Most Popular Drake's Products:
- 1) Devil Dogs: A devil's food creme sandwich whose wafers have rounded edges making the cake somewhat resemble a hot dog.
- 2) Yankee Doodles: Chocolate cupcakes baked and sold in paper baking cups. Unlike most other snack cupcakes on the market, there is no icing, and the hole through which the creme filling was inserted is clearly visible in the risen center.
4) Yodels: Chocolate frosted creme filled swiss roll.
Now. Perhaps you will notice the choice words I have put in boldface for you. You clearly recognize these cakes, because without fail, these four are the ones you consistently see in any and all stores. However, something kind of interesting about that....they're. all. the. same. goddamn. thing. ALL of them are chocolate cake base, filled with creme! ALL OF THEM!
The Funny Bone is the only goddamn thing that's DIFFERENT! Chocolate and PEANUT BUTTER creme. And I guess this question would be kind of obvious at this point, but with 4 of the same fucking snack cakes, you can't make room for a 5th that actually offers something different?!
And I know! Some of you might be saying, "Linzoo, no. You don't know - you are being cake-ist. When I want a Yodel, a Ring Ding just won't do!" And you know what I say to that? Come here, come closer....
"THEY'RE ALL THE SAME THING!"
Maybe I'm being a hypocrite. I am a lady of specifics - maybe Yodel lovers are too. As I said before, tolerance, tolerance.
But see, I don't like Yodels. If you are a woman of specifics, you don't crave a fucking Yodel. Or a Ding Dong. You crave the FUNNY BONES of this world; you crave the limited edition version of a candy bar, you crave Capt' Crunch's Underwater Sea Cereal (which ABSOLUTELY existed, and was the GREATEST cereal of all time, even though no one on this Earth except me, and the good people over at Post cereals remembers it) - Yodels are for people who will settle, and that ain't this lady.
Ask yourself this right now: Are you a Funny Bones person? Or are you a Yodels person?
Feel I'm wrong? Rest assured that I am always right: one brutal truth you can always count on.
1 comment:
Speaking as a sandwich crafter myself, I do apologize for the horrible display you were forced to endure.
That said, sandwich crafters do not get paid much at all. Showing you the roast beef, dealing with indecisiveness, and over perfection are not included. However, if you would like to pay extra, (a la tip), then most of us are more than happy to take the extra time to help. Otherwise, you're just a pain in our ass, and could be the reason your order was so brutalized.
We sandwich makers are required to smile. But we seldom forget, and our vengeance is often times severe.
However if this was a first trip to this particular eatery, then disregard all vengeful explanations.
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