Skip to main content

Excessive YouTube linkage plus sandwich cracker ambiguity clarified

They may be a bunch of tree-dwelling, pointy-eared freaks, but those Keebler Elves work some magic with their tiny ovens.

I needed food fast. I was deep within the bowels of Denver airport in the back of its subterranean regional jet terminal. With 10 minutes before my flight, I hurried back through the dark corridors to acquire quick and easy sustenance.

I grabbed a pack of Club and Cheddar sandwich crackers at the newsstand for a buck and change. I'll say right now that they the first sandwiches in a long while I highly recommend. Their many positive traits are as follows:
  • Both salty and cheesy
  • Plentiful: eight sandies for under two bucks
  • Instead of boring old bread, the filling is sandwiched by crackers, and not just any crackers but Club crackers, which are by all measures the top cracker on the market today.
  • Cheese filling is cheddar cheese, which a reliable and good cheese if not the fanciest. It is not a pretentious cheese.
  • This cheese, it's real, as the package clearly states. None of this fakey Velveeta nonsense.
  • Portability: all eight sandies fit comfortably in my pocket
If this list failed to convince you, then you're hopeless and should probably give up on eating sandwiches, reading blogs, life and everything.

Oh, and I can hear some of you now (in my head, not literally) arguing that Club and Cheddar sandwich crackers aren't truly sandwiches. Look, you argumentative jerk, if the package says they're sandwiches, they're sandwiches. And if you're going to fight me on semantics, here's some common sense for you to put in your guff pipe and smoke: how do these cracker sandies essentially differ from a grilled cheese sandwich? Sure, one's baked and the other's grilled, but they're both cheese between two pieces of flour-based foodstuff. Case closed!

I apologize for ending this review on such a hostile note. The takeaway here should be these are good sandwiches for a good price and you can't go wrong buying a pack next time you're peckish, short on time and in an airport. As the French say: bone apple treat.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Although I agree with the 'club as premier cracker' statement, I find it difficult to swallow (pun intended) that you qualify these as sandwiches. I suppose you also believe they were actually put together by elves, because the packaging says so. As someone who refers to this blog for ideas to impress his family on his designated cooking days (weekends), I'm disappointed that Cheez Whiz on crackers rates as a 4-out-of-5 sandy.
Alex Headrick said…
Are you saying the packaging is lying? Who else would assemble them, if not elves? First, I'm horrified that you would feed your family based on the drunken ramblings of an admitted cheese junkie. Second, it's not Cheez Whiz (which only belongs on Philly Cheese Steaks, by the way, nothing else), it's "Real Cheddar Cheese." Third, I'm sorry to disappoint, but our rating system is highly arbitrary and based mostly on poorly defined factors like the reviewer's mood at the time and perceived deliciousness.

Popular posts from this blog

Review: Pepperhouse Gourmaise

Being that Big Condiment still seems to think Mustardayonnaise  is a joke, I've been forced to seek out a suitable alternative. This search led me to Boar's Head's " Pepperhouse Gourmaise " spread. According to Boar's Head, Pepperhouse Gourmaise is "real mayonnaise with a touch of Boar's Head Deli Mustard and a house blend of black, white, pink and green peppercorns." They also claim that it goes well with poultry, beef and pork. What a pepperhouse might look like if it were a thing ( photo by Justin Sachtleben ) I can confirm that it goes well with poultry and pork (or at least ham — I haven't tried it with any other pig-meats). And the quality of the ingredients seems to live up to Boars Head's high standards. As a black pepper kind of guy, I'm impressed by their fancy pink peppercorns. Still, I can't say I'm satisfied with B.H.P.G. Its color is off-putting and the peppercorns hurt my teeth. And while it's deci

Kewpie Mayonnaise: Disturbing but delicious

After years of waffling , I finally took the dive and purchased a bottle of Kewpie mayo. Kewpie mayo's premium price and disturbing packaging had previously prevented me from buying it, but Grub Street blogger Ian Knauer's Flavor Ammo post about it convinced me to give the baby-themed mayo a chance. For the unfamiliar, Kewpie is a popular Japanese brand of mayonnaise that's often found in gourmet specialty stores, such as Eastern District in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. It's also currently available for 10 bucks on Amazon . The package features a standing baby that could easily serve as a homicidal doll in a horror story. Adding to the unease brought about by the package, the mayonnaise comes in a bag. I can't be alone in my belief that a bag is a completely inappropriate container for mayonnaise. Because of these setbacks, Kewpie mayo takes some getting used to. Now that I've come to terms with the unsettling packaging, I've probably topp

McCriollo: The Puerto Rican Egg McMuffin

36 drafted, unpublished posts and and half a year down ... it's time to start posting again. Let's start simple, with breakfast sandwiches and cultural differences. Last weekend, I went to Puerto Rico on a work trip, and had breakfast at the airport's McDonald's on my way back home . I really wanted an EggMcMuffin -- a favorite I haven't had in a long time. Yet the #1 combo on the menu offered only the mysterious "McCriollo," and there were no English Muffin sandwiches to be found. Apparently the advantages gained by the English muffin's nooks and crannies are under appreciated in the island of enchantment. Undeterred, I took the opportunity to find out what San Juan had to offer in the spongy anglo-muffin's stead. The McCriollo turned out to be about the same as an EggMcMuffin except on a decent chewy/crispy split bun. The name translates to "McCreole," which may make more sense in Puerto Rico, but sounded like wishful marketing to