It looks like I've been on a goofy food kick lately. I'll blog about something, and then get a wacky suggestion in comments, and — boom, I've got to eat that, too.
My post on Trader Joe's pot stickers led to an attempt at tortilla-wrapped hot dogs. Which led to a couple of suggestions for sandwiches, one of which I haven't tried yet. (Oh, but I will.)
This is the Chip Butty. I am like a blind person with a cookbook I can't read, assembling a dish I've never tasted.
I didn't even know what a "butty" was until two pals steered me toward the light. A butty is a sandwich. It's a locution from northern England, but you are welcome to pronounce it in the south, the southern hemisphere, and even over here in the far west.
(Oh, and a "chip," of course, is a French fry.)
Jeez. French fry sandwich? It sounds frightening!
Naturally I had to have it.
Did I get anywhere close to the real thing? I don't know. I kinda think so, but I'd be just flattering myself.
Cranky procured some HP sauce, and he stoically crafted French fries in a skillet, with a minimum of oil. None of that twice-fried in horse fat stuff. These were crisp, golden, and creamy on the inside.
Our bread was a bit stale so we toasted it lightly.
Piled on the chips. Salted 'em. Great lashings of butter. That sticky dribble of HP.
Slapped on the top layer and munched away.
Let me say, this is very filling. It is a carbohydrate sandwich with sodium.
Kind of like carnival food: a savory funnel cake or something (which, to my off-shore friends, I am not recommending.)
It made me happy. It made me wish I'd had a hangover that needed stuffing.