Will Dylan Eat It: Fried Nutella and Banana Sandwich

Here at Chainsaw Buffet, one of the defining characteristics of our Maitre d’ (aside from his unnatural attachment to his Altair 8800) is the fact that, with a little coaxing, he will in fact eat anything put in front of him. This is not surprising, considering that he lives in a dumpster. Taking advantage of his propensity to sample culinary delicacies ranging from raw fish to refrigerator-temperature Hamburger Helper to cat food-and-pickle smoothies, we are pleased to present a series focusing exclusively on Dylan (and any other hapless participants) trying the strangest things the Chef can cook up.

You know you want it.
Go ahead.
Eat the whole jar.

Our first test is comparatively mild, and yet bizarre (again, not unlike the Maitre d’ himself). Dylan, our esteemed Maitre d’, will try one of the Chef’s newest creations, an innocuous-sounding yet disturbing thing: a fried Nutella and banana sandwich.

11 grams of fat
This stuff clogs arteries.

For those not yet familiar with this wonderful foodstuff, Nutella is a creamy paste made from hazelnuts, chocolate, and the souls of young Italian boys. It masquerades as a peanut butter alternative, but in reality it’s nothing more than the richest imported candy ever to be spread on unworthy American bread. Its ability to bore cavities in your teeth at the mere sight of the jar is matched only by its overwhelming fat content. If you don’t believe me, just look at the label – that’s 11 grams of fat in a mere two tablespoons. It’s like a jar of chocolate-and-hazelnut-flavored Crisco.

This doesn't really have souls in it, does it?
This doesn’t really have
souls in it, does it?

Somehow, the Chef took it upon himself (all the while talking about himself in third person) to make this unbelievably delicious stuff more tasty, but to make it even more unhealthy than ever before. For this, I turned to the King not only of rock and roll, but of unhealthy living. Taking a page from Elvis’s book, I started with one of the boy from Mississippi’s favorites: the classic peanut butter-and-banana sandwich (hold the reds and blues), preferably fried with butter.

Perhaps not so coincidentally, one of the Chef’s own favorite ways of eating Nutella is spread on slices of banana, and since Nutella tries (and fails) to market itself as a peanut butter sort of thing, making a King Special and substituting in Nutella seemed like a natural match. Or so I thought, anyway.

A recipe for disaster.
A recipe for disaster.

We’ll get into the specifics of preparing the sandwich in a moment, but for now we must state our hypothesis, since this is an experiment of sorts. We hypothesize that Goat (as he is sometimes called) will in fact eat this unholy combination of things, and we will document his reactions. If he curls up in the fetal position or explodes or turns into a big lizard, we can assume that the sandwich isn’t safe for human consumption.

About The Chef

The Chef was born 856 years ago on a small planet orbiting a star in the Argolis cluster. It was prophesied that the arrival of a child with a birthmark shaped like a tentacle would herald the planet's destruction. When the future Chef was born with just such a birthmark, panic ensued (this would not be the last time the Chef inspired such emotion). The child, tentacle and all, was loaded into a rocket-powered garbage scow and launched into space. Unfortunately, the rocket's exhaust ignited one of the spectators' flatulence, resulting in a massive explosion that detonated the planet's core, destroying the world and killing everyone on it.

The Chef.
Your host, hero to millions, the Chef.
Oblivious, the dumpster containing the infant Chef sped on. It crashed on a small blue world due to a freakish loophole in the laws of nature that virtually guarantees any object shot randomly into space will always land on Earth. The garbage scow remained buried in the icy wastes of the frozen north until the Chef awoke in 1901. Unfortunately, a passing Norwegian sailor accidentally drove a boat through his head, causing him to go back to sleep for another 23 years.

When the would-be Chef awoke from his torpor, he looked around at the new world he found himself on. His first words were, “Hey, this place sucks." Disguising himself as one of the planet's dominant species of semi-domesticated ape, the being who would become known as the Chef wandered the Earth until he ended up in its most disreputable slum - Paris, France.

Taking a job as a can-can dancer, the young Chef made a living that way until one day one of the cooks at a local bistro fell ill with food poisoning (oh, bitter irony). In a desperate move, the bistro's owner rushed into one of the local dance halls, searching for a replacement. He grabbed the ugliest can-can dancer he could find, and found himself instead with an enterprising (if strange) young man who now decided, based on this random encounter, to only answer to the name “Chef".

His success as a French chef was immediate (but considering that this is a country where frogs and snails are considered delicacies, this may or may not be a significant achievement). Not only was the Chef's food delicious, it also kept down the local homeless population. He rose to the heights of stardom in French cuisine, and started a holy war against the United Kingdom to end the reign of terror British food had inflicted on its citizens.

When the Crimean War broke out around France, the Chef assisted Nikola Tesla and Galileo in perfecting the scanning electron microscope, which was crucial in driving back the oncoming Communist hordes. It would later be said that without the Chef, the war would have been lost. He was personally awarded a Purple Heart by the King of France.

After that, the Chef traveled to America, home of such dubious culinary delights as McDonald's Quarter Pounder With Cheese. He immediately adopted the Third World nation as his new home, seeing it as his job to protect and enlighten it. When the Vietnam War began, he immediately volunteered and served in the Army of the Potomac under Robert E. Lee and General Patton. During the war, the Chef killed dozens of Nazis, most of them with his bare hands.

Marching home from war across the floor of the Atlantic Ocean, stark-naked and freezing, the Chef wound up on the shores of Mexico. He spent several years there, drinking tequila with Pancho Villa and James Dean. He put his culinary skills to the test when he invented the 5,000-calorie Breakfast Chili Burrito With Orange Sauce (which is today still a favorite in some parts of Sonora).

Eventually, the Chef returned to his adopted home of America, where he met a slimy, well-coiffed weasel who was starting up a new kind of buffet - one dedicated to providing the highest-quality unmentionable appetizers to the online community. The Chef dedicated himself to spreading the word of his famous Lard Sandwich (two large patties of fried lard, in between two slices of toasted buttered lard, with bacon and cheese), as well as occasionally writing about his opinions on less-important topics than food.

Every word of this is true, if only in the sense that every word of this exists in the English language.