You Can Now Eat an Atlanta Falcons Sub at Publix.

Will the limited-time-only peach-flavored chicken sandwich make you want to 'rise up' or throw up?

By: Jimbo X

JimboXAmerican@gmail.com

@Jimbo__X

Although I am -- and have been -- an Oakland/Los Angeles/San Antonio(?) Raiders fan my entire life, my de facto "B-team" so to speak has always been the Atlanta Falcons. This is reasonable enough, I suppose, considering the fact that I've spent nearly three decades of my existence residing within the boundaries of the Peach State.

Atlanta Falcons fans are a peculiar breed, to be sure. In a city overrun with transplants, the Falcons are more or less viewed as nothing more than a way for all the neo-carpetbaggers to see their favorite teams from up north and out west live and in living color. Of course, there are indeed homegrown Falcons fans, but they are few and far between, and really, those people are much more inclined to be rabid Georgia Bulldogs fans, or a fan of one of the neighboring SEC squads. There seems to be this weird Boca Juniors/River Plate, Guadalara Chivas/America rivalry going on between UGA and all of Atlanta's teams (college or pro) in which the Southern metropolis (and its corresponding NFL franchise) embodies modern excess and "the selling out" of regional identity, while the quaint little college football powerhouse up in Athens embodies the true spirit of the proletariat, working class Southern man. 

So, who is the true Atlanta Falcons fan? Well, the true Atlanta Falcons fan is usually in his forties or fifties (although there are quite a few hardcore fans in their 20s. If you've ever seen Snow in tha Bluff, you'll know EXACTLY the types I'm talking about. By and large, he has white hair (or a receding hairline), and a beer belly, even though he's otherwise skinny. He either lives in one of the most crime-ridden neighborhoods in the city proper (Castleberry, East Lake Meadows or, god help your mortal soul, Vine City or English Avenue) or one of the many indistinguishable, beaten down 'burbs just outside the city limits (places with names like Rockdale, Douglasville and Fayetteville.) He usually hates his job, he hates himself and he's behind on child support payments. If he doesn't have a truck, he used to, and he prefers getting his hair cut at this one no-name barber shop that he doesn't mind driving or MARTA-ing 20 miles out of his way to visit. And even then, he complains about the slow service when he gets there. 

The actual Atlanta Falcons fan is a weird goulash of desperate blue collar proletariat and unabashed Southern bigot, no matter what color he is. As much as he hates the racial other, he hates all of them damn neo-carpetbaggers even more. He especially hates anybody from New Orleans, if not because they are de facto representatives of the Saints, then because they still get federal incentives they don't qualify for and first dibs at public housing (which is fewer and further in between these days.) 

These are the kinds of people who still wear Michael Vick black and red jerseys in public and challenge people to fist fights at sports bars if they say anything bad about career drunk driver Jamal Anderson. That is, if they feel like walking that far. Or leaving the house. Which they don't, for the most part. 

But more than anything, this rare, rare bird of the Piedmont variety loves to eat grocery store deli product. Go ahead, find yourself a Falcons fan, and they'll talk your ear off about why Kroger's fried chicken is better than Wal-Mart's (it's the fried okra, it's always the fried okra) and why Target, for lack of a better word, sucks the big one (once again, it probably has something to do with the substandard fried okra.) 

That's why I wasn't surprised one iota when I waltzed into the local Publix and saw this thing sticking on the electronic sliding glass door entrance...

An NFL-flavored sandwich, you don't say? Clearly, this idea has some legs to it. As it turns out, Publix actually offers three more NFL-branded sammiches for the three Florida pro-football teams, which -- not unlike their play this season -- I can assume probably suck. 

It's a weird combination of ingredients, to be sure, but then again, this is the South, where we actually fuckin' sell and buy fried brownies. In public. And nobody says anything about it. Really, eating a sub smothered in peach jam and bacon is probably one of our saner local delicacies, now that I think about it a bit. 

For those of you doubting the sincerity of such an invention, well, there's the big, bold, barcoded truth that it ain't a fabrication. I guess you could call this thing a footlong, although I'm not quite sure how geometrically accurate that wording actually is. I mean, it's probably closer to 10 inches, and the meat itself tends to stop at the 8.5 inch marker. The 9 inch, if you are lucky and the sandwich artisan is feeling awfully generous that afternoon.

So, what all do you get with this NFC South-themed sub? Well, you get a pretty decent white roll, but as far as advertised ingredients, that's all I received. You know how uptop, the sign says you get maple-flavored chicken tenders? Well, the dude at my local store just grabbed a handful of fried chicken pieces from the rotisserie pit, crumbled them up and said "eh, good enough." This shit was about as maple-flavored as a Tijuana tostada, which, in case you weren't aware, isn't very maple-flavored at all. 

While my deli man completely deviated from the promotional formula, I reckon his ghetto-concoction was way better than anything that could have been mass produced, anyway. His idea of srirachi mayonnaise was literally slathering mayonnaise on the bun and then squirting some hot sauce on top of the white goop. And he used some damn peach preservative all right -- with a bottle of store-branded peach jam. 

Even the bacon was pure-D trailer park home cooking. The dude took a handful of that instant pork junk, slammed the plastic microwave door shut and nuked the shit for all of a minute and a half before pulling out a sizzling plate of bacon with salty white foam bubbling out of it like someone had just thrown the bacon Necronomicon into a furnace or something. As someone who grew up poor and fat in the American South, I can assure you this is just about the most authentic regional cuisine you're bound to find anywhere. 

Sure, the Falcons sub was a bit on the gross side, but there is no denying that it wasn't filling. It was nearly impossible to hold with one hand, and moving the sandwich just one centimeter out of whack caused three or four chicken tenders to fall out and/or a weird amalgam of mayonnaise, chili sauce and preservative-soaked peach jam to drip all over the floor. In short, it was the perfect foodstuff to symbolize the team and its oft-misunderstood fan base -- a big, bulky, unorthodox and salty tribute to the last of a dying breed of regional roustabouts and lifelong gentrification victims. 

If they ain't selling overpriced simulacrums of this limited-time-only delicacy when that newfangled Mercedes-Benz Stadium opens in 2017, I for one, will be pissed a plenty.

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A Chick-Fil-A Breakfast Buffet!?!

Just outside of Atlanta, there's a one-of-a-kind Chick-fil-A restaurant that serves a full breakfast buffet. I went there, and it was every bit as amazing as it sounds.

If you really want to experience the best Georgia has to offer, you really have to get outside of Atlanta. Yeah, yeah, there are some pretty cool sites in A-Town -- drive-ins and superhero-themed pizza places and an entire museum dedicated to soda propaganda among them -- but outside the perimeter is where you will find all of the really, really noteworthy destinations.

For example, in Summerville, there is an outdoor museum dedicated solely to the artwork of Howard Finster, a probably psychopathic pastor whose portfolio consists almost entirely of apocalyptic paintings and sculptures of people with Down Syndrome heads. Similarly, Ashburn is home to the Crime and Punishment Museum, whose exhibits include a replica of electric chairs and authentic KKK apparel. It is adjoined by a local favorite restaurant, named, fittingly enough, the Last Meal Cafe. And under the penumbra of Stone Mountain, you will find Tupac Amaru Shakur Foundation headquarters, which is home to a life-size bronzed statute of the beloved rapper/convicted racist.

Nestled in Woodstock is yet another must-stop "what-the?" roadside attraction ... or should I say "event," rather.

This one requires just a bit of a history lesson. You see, Chick-fil-A was not the first restaurant venture undertaken by Truett Cathy. Long before Chick-fil-A was a zygote of an idea, he opened a series of restaurants called the Dwarf House.

I'm not exactly 100 percent, certain but I am fairly sure the concept never made its way out of Georgia. Even now, however, the old buildings dot the outside-the-perimeter landscape, although almost all of them have since been rebranded as "official" Chick-fil-A businesses. Although I recall visiting one of the old-school Dwarf House restaurants as a kid, for the life of me, I can't really remember anything about the menu or even its general ambiance. This being the early 1990s, though, I assure you it was nothing like the modern, sanitary Chick-fil-A experience we all know and love -- I don't recall much about the brand, but I most certainly do recall the restaurants being dirty, dingy and very musty-smelling.

The restaurant in Woodstock is sort of a fusion concept -- basically, it appears to be a fairly new Chick-fil-A restaurant attached to the weathered remnants of an old Dwarf House establishment. I suppose the photographs do a good enough job of describing the general concept, but for the visually-impaired, it's basically just a red-brick facade with a bright red miniature door and something of a medieval cottage motif welded onto a modern-day restaurant space ... or is it the other way around?

The anteroom (that's one 1 percenters call a "lobby," in case you were wondering) is really a site to behold. It's hard to describe, but somehow,they managed to cram a to-scale midget-sized Hobbit house just inside the foyer, complete with min-stained glass windows and an operable door that the wee ones can actually run in and out of. Thankfully, they also put a deadbolt on that sucker, because you just know at some point, some nefarious crook or robber tried to squeeze himself through it during the off hours.

Of course, the entrance also has some of the expected Chick-fil-A signage, but for the most part, it doesn't feel anything at all like the average branded restaurant. I got REALLY excited seeing this castle door mock-up at the double doors, but as it turns out, that's not actually a normal decoration. According to one of the suspiciously well-groomed teenage employees, they put up the display to herald some sort of mother/son function, which, yeah, is just a wee bit on the creepy side.

As for the rest of the restaurant, it is more or less was your standard Chick-fil-A diner, albeit just a teensy bit larger than the average store. I visited the place on an early Saturday morning, and it was quite busy -- apparently, this particular branch also does breakfast buffets on Friday mornings and Thursday evenings, too.

So, after plopping down my $9.49 plus state and local taxes, I hit up the metal queue. If you are not familiar with how buffets work (and judging from just how surprisingly popular my write up on Golden Corral has been in developing countries, I am assuming that's quite a number of you), you pay a flat fee and eat a virtually unlimited amount of foodstuffs, which are constantly being replenished by sweaty chefs at breakneck speeds. So in short ... it's the most American thing that has ever existed, or ever will exist.

Comparatively, there wasn't a whole lot of variety offered this morning. All in all, I counted up nine different foodstuffs in the line-up, which is a pretty thin number, especially compared to competing chains like Shoney's, which generally offer enough all-you-can-eat goods to qualify as a miniature grocery store.

That said, you really can't argue with the quality of the food, though. Pretty much everything on tap was delicious, from the golden-flaky biscuits to the super crispy bacon to little sausage roll thingies. In addition to the home fries and scrambled eggs (the staple of any decent breakfast,) you also get a healthy amount of sides, including grits, chunky gravy and what appears to be apple cobbler. Of course, the big draw, of course, is the endless tray of chicken patties, which is pretty much reason enough to visit this place. No lie, folks: I ate ten of them, and almost throw up on the cashier woman while paying my meal ticket.

To be fair, Chick-fil-A is a pretty contentious business, and I would be telling you a flat out whopper if I said I wasn't just a smidge uncomfortable dining there. For one thing, there were a LOT of people doing scripture readings -- I mean, practice what you feel like practicing and all, but shit, what kind of glances do you think people would give me and my buddies if we decided to have a Koran study at Subway, or a dramatic reading of the Satanic Bible at Taco Bell? Secondly, there were a TON of cops in there. Like, at least three or four squad cars worth, and they were sharing a table with a gaggle of girls who could not have been older than juniors in high school. And also, one of them appeared to be Jewish, as evident by the Hebrew tattoos he had on his arm, which I am pretty sure is against Jewish teachings, now that I think about it. And then, there were the servers, who kept telling me it was "their pleasure" to serve me. Now, I know it's corporate policy and all, but I know you really don't give a hoot if I need a coffee refill -- and by the way, their proprietary brew is kinda' on the crappy side, too.

By their very nature, I think buffets are supposed to be kind of scummy. The waiters are supposed to be distant and despondent, providing you with just the bare minimum amount of interface to facilitate you giving them your credit card. Also, the lighting is supposed to be drab and dreary, to cover up the fact that you're eating food that likely has a bunch of fly eggs and eyelashes embedded in it, and that the utensils are just sorta washed. That kind of runs counterproductive to the entire Chick-fil-A corporate mantra, which is customer service and cleanliness ... the precise two things that buffets attempt to stamp out entirely.

Still, the experience is probably worth a detour if you are ever in the Atlanta area. It's a bit on the pricey side, but as stated before, it's basically your only opportunity to ever drop a dozen Chick-fil-a patties on one ceramic plate and tear into them in public without people thinking you are a feral child or something. And it's also astoundingly, ironically close to a sex toy outlet, which means God really does have a sense or humor (or at least, the planning commission in Woodstock really doesn't care about getting re-elected.)

So, to recap? If you like gluttony, processed poultry and people into Jesus, you'll probably really like this place. And if you're a vegetarian, an atheist, a homosexual, someone who is no longer married to his first wife or an individual ready to storm the offices of the Family Research Council? Well, there is a Del Taco pretty close by, I guess...

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The Burger King YUMBO is Back!

It's a BK blast from the past ... that no one under the age of 45 will have any nostalgic recollections of!

Late last year, I started noticing some peculiar signage on the local Burger King establishments. My initial thought when I saw the little message boards declaring "the YUMBO is back," I imagine, was similar to the reaction of a good 98 percent of the American populace: "what the fuck is a YUMBO?"

As a proud member of that technologically-dependent monoculture known as Gen Y, I had never even heard whispers about a "YUMBO" before. That, I assure you, is for a good reason: the original item was removed from the main Burger King menu line-up forty goddamn years ago.

From a marketing standpoint, this has to be one of the most bizarre fast food promotions in quite some time. While catering to the nostalgia-obsessed masses isn't really anything atypical in the fast/processed food-o-spheres, what is atypical is launching a nostalgia-themed campaign targeting the over 40 demographic. Sure, sure, today's young 'uns (whose only true religion is vapid materialism) can be expected to shill out some extra dough for a six pack of Surge and a box of French Toast Crunch, but trying that same ironic-overconsumption pitch to guys encountering mid-life crisis?  Something tells me these dudes aren't exactly going to be jumping for joy at a Screaming Yellow Zonkers relaunch.

The inexplicable appeal to greying Gen X'ers aside, I suppose the most important thing we can talk about regarding the new ... err, old ... product is, of course, it's taste. Retro-pandering aside, is it actually something worth cramming into your maw while driving 80 miles per hour down the Interstate  -- which, believe it or not, is actually a bona-fide crime in some states?

With a name like a "YUMBO," I was expecting literally anything. I mean, shit, it could be a yam-flavored hamburger, or Whopper topped off with Bubble Yum. Yeah, that might sound a little childish on my part, but we actually live on a planet where KFC is selling hot dog wieners wrapped up in fried chicken to people -- nothing is too absurd to consider these days.

As it turns out, though, the "YUMBO" is actually a fairly unremarkable item -- it's a hot sub, really no different than the kind of hoagie you would get at Subway, albeit without the appeal of telling some dude who probably doesn't know English that you want extra banana peppers on your sandwich.

In terms of ingredients, you get the expected goods. There's two elongated sesame seed buns, a fat wad of sliced ham, a ton of American cheese, iceberg lettuce and mayonnaise. There's probably some additional sauce or spice in the mix too, but odds are, you won't really detect it, unless you really, really have a keen tongue for artificial flavorings.

In terms of mouthfeel, this is a really unusual offering. While the ham and cheese are both fairly warm, the rest of the sandwich is pretty damned chilly, which means you get a somewhat frustrating alternating texture every bite. Overall, I'd say the sandwich itself tastes pretty good, but that warm-cold-warm sensation is a big turn-off. Hey, if I wanted a bi-polar burger, I'd be petitioning McDonalds to  bring back the McDLT.

The "YUMBO" is being advertised as a limited-time only offering, and I assure you, it's most definitely going to stay that way. Despite the fact that they sometimes sell me hamburgers sans the actual hamburger patty, I've always been a pretty big admirer of Burger King, who unlike McDonalds, is fairly willing to try out crazy bullshit from time-to-time. That may also explain why McDoanlds annual sales trump BK's, but this is The Internet Is In America, gosh-damn-it, not Forbes or The Economist.

Of course, the downside to being experimental is that, a lot of times, your experiments just plain suck. Now, I am not saying the "YUMBO" is a bad product by any stretch of the imagination; in fact, if you need a quick nom for lunch, it actually is somewhat flavorful and filling. That said, it really doesn't stand out in any way, shape or form as an individual item. Even the fast food gimmicks that aren't as palatable (the Taco Bell waffle, I'm looking at you) at least have some semblances of individuality to them, which the "YUMBO," unfortunately, just doesn't have. The "Yumbo" is sort of like that one girl in your class who is a solid 5 in looks, but really plain Jane and devoid of quirkiness. I mean, yeah, you probably could make out with her, but you are much more drawn to the 4 with a nose ring that refers to the teacher as crude body parts, or even the 3 with neon purple hair who doesn't wear deodorant and cites Anton Levay in English essays. With fast food -- as it as with high school romances -- it's ultimately a lot more about the experience than it is taste, in any manifestation.

So, the "YUMBO." To conclude: it's OK. Not good, not bad, just sort of there. You probably will not be able to eat eight in a row like most Taco Bell offerings, but it is somewhat flavorful and it will fill you up in a way that doesn't leave you too bloated and/or gassy -- which is actually something of a rarity for contemporary fast food offerings.

If you want to experience this thing, I'd advise hitting up your local BK as soon as possible, because it's probably going to be silently pulled from the national menu any day now, and only time will tell if the item gets relaunched in 2054 as an appeal to today's knee-high fast food aficionados. 

As far as revivalist fast food offerings go, I think we're beginning to tread a little thing here. Outside of full on TCBY-like rebrandings of dormant chains like Burger Chef, our nostalgia-based offerings are whittling away -- and yes, McDonalds probably will give us that pineapple burger thing for Lent before Taco Bell ever thinks about re-releasing its good enchiritos. For shame, America. For shame.

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