Country Fried Hockey Pucks

 if you’re on a quest to find the worst processed pucks this side of the mountains, I believe I know where they might be found. I don’t want to give away the exact location, but it is probably residing…still deteriorating…in that oasis of fine cuisine known as "the other Ohio." This pocket of foothill cuisine is best known for the birthplace of Bob Evans' Sausage Spaghetti and the local delight, "The Breakfast Mess." 

It was in this neck of the woods that I found the worst food ever invented. In a household of five poverty-rich students, we pooled our meager resources to fix a weekday dinner. It was up to one of us to go get the food at the store and bring back what was on the list.

Now, we were relatively poor, but when we had more money, we'd order food like Super beef Hoagies, Fried Chicken, and Gyros. So, when you're a college student, living in a one-pot-pissing run-down residence, with an out-of-town landlord...and you're feasting on ramen, hot dogs, and Rosebud Margarine...a chance to find an affordable frozen breaded meat was an upgrade over the ramen regime.

So that one Wednesday afternoon, I sent a housemate, with the money and the list, to the grocery store down the street to find some beer-battered fish and fries.

My housemate returned with tartar sauce, chips, and a box of what I thought were Mrs. Paul's Fish Sticks. When I turned over the box, I discovered "Mr. Fritter."

The worst chicken sandwich I have ever had, “Mister Fritter,” a now extinct prepared pre-frozen patty, resembled a country fried hockey puck with a sledgehammer-like hint of fish.

While baking, the fritter emitted such an odoriferous fog of stench from the cavern-oven, that I hurried to get everything else ready before they were done.

On my first attempt to sample one, I bit into it, but it was so hot, it fell out of my mouth onto the floor.

On my second attempt, I discovered a spoiled-fish-like coating with a hint of aluminum pan. After painfully retching…I ordered the items dispersed in the back yard in order to keep the cockroaches, mice, and other vermin away from the house. After several days, they remained untouched by weather or critter, and the potent breaded grease pucks remained unchanged.

When the chicken patties refused to deteriorate, we hid them deep within a trash bag and sent them to patty hell, otherwise known as the county dump. 

Knowing what I know now...if I were a betting man, I would bet that they are still there, years after disposal, unchanged and unfettered. Long live Mister Fritter!