behold, in front of you, the pinnacle of food. Not fast food. food. I honestly believe it is one of the things that humankind was put on this earth to create - a sandwich suitable for God himself. I found this place I am sure is familiar to all you southerners on a drive from connecticut to florida, and in honor of Snaileb's Magic French Fry, or whatever the fuck it is, it reminded me of a road stop without comparison:

Zaxby's

Now, usually, these pictures of fast food are so elaborate and contrived that the food ends up looking like a 10 course meal at Per se when there is no actual "food" product in the picture. Here it's the opposite: the sandwhich pictured is but a meagre vessel for the explosion of flavor underneath.

The bread is composed of the bones of virgins ground into a fine meal, lightly soaked in the butter from the baby white seal, and roasted over 700 year old oak barrels. It is rich and yet the consistancy of cotton candy. and that's just the bread. The firey sauce is the most perfectly balanced tightrope act of spicy vs. flavor, juxtaposed with a heavenly ranch that jessica alba produces upon lactation. The juicy, tendy strips of fried chicken provide a textural contraponto to the airyness of the bread, and the sauce is like a river of soothing bass lines that comforts and supports the melody.

the fries are pretty good too.