The first step, of course, is to prepare the ingredients. This means all of slicing the bananas and spreading Nutella on the bread (for those of you in Arkansas, this may be too advanced). I ended up putting half of a banana on the sandwich, as well as a fairly liberal amount of Nutella on each slice, going slightly beyond the recommended dosage of two tablespoons.
There it is, ready to meet its maker, the frying pan. As a side note, Nutella unfortunately looks like the contents of a used diaper, which doesn’t dim the spread’s majesty one bit.
The next step would obviously be to heat the pan and melt Paula Deen’s favorite, the butter. As a side note, I must say that Paula creeps me right the fuck out. I get the feeling that you should never turn your back on her, because if that woman gets hungry enough, she’s likely to eat you. She probably wouldn’t even bother with chewing and simply swallow you whole after slathering you with a big stick of butter.
But back to the topic at hand, namely frying this sandwich within an inch of its life. Believe it or not, the Chef is not actually that talented at cooking (and most of his time at the stove has been been spent making Things Man Was Not Meant To Cook). Even so, this is still in sharp contrast to the Maitre d’, who has never so much as made a grilled cheese sandwich. Quoth our Maitre d’: “No, I can’t make a grilled cheese sandwich. I can’t cook because I fail at life.”
The actual frying was almost ludicrously easy. Of course, considering that it’s the traditional way of cooking in the South, that’s not saying much. Brown it on one side, then the other, and if you think there’s a risk of it being too healthy, add some more butter. Julia Child, the Chef ain’t.
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.
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.
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