BROKEN TELEPHONE...

by Cottonwood Fields:

We regret to report that this Telephone City show was all but a washout. We're not sure why, exactly. The organizers did everything right as far as we can tell. The show was advertised, it was held at a well-known downtown venue, and it had even generated some press in the local paper.

(photo courtesy of Pin Pals)

Shifty weather may have been partially to blame, but perhaps the truth of the matter might be that the fair people of Brantford simply aren't interested in what treasures may be found at a craft fair in a punk rock club.

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And while we did not come home the victorious millionaires we had hoped, it cannot be said that the trip was a total loss.

As a matter of fact, we will go out on a limb and claim that it is worth the drive to Brantford just to sample the epicurean delights of grease-sopped Admiral Submarine. AKA Admiral Fast Food, or, if you prefer, Admiral Harry's. Call it what you will; it's a rigorous workout in heart-stopping gluttony.

(photo by Becky Johnson)

Let us recommend their signature dish, the Junkpile. It consists of twin sesame kaiser sandwiches, each barely able to contain their generous load of hamburger patty, roast beef, turkey, ham, regular and peameal bacon, and two chicken nuggets on a bed of mayo-drenched lettuce, onions, pickles and tomatoes. Topped with much melted cheese, ofcourse, alongside a shoebox of fries. Aitor is still dutifully picking away at his order since yesterday.

(photo courtesy of Andreas Link)

Also, Lydia asked for a side of mayonnaise and was handed a styrofoam coffee cup full of the stuff.

Upon hearing our reports of this gastronomic adventure, T-Bone, who remains State-side, had us promise to hold his birthday dinner at the Admiral.

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