| Friday, November 20, 2009 |
It was 30 years ago today. Elvis Presley, the King of rock 'n' roll, was found expired on a bathroom floor inside his Graceland mansion.
Due to newsroom budget cuts, my offer to attend the huge remembrance festivities in Memphis was met with even more rolled eyes and cold stony contempt than usual.
I did, however, manage to win editor approval to spend $13.96. This allowed me to honor the EP memory by making his favorite sandwich – a 4-pound monstrosity of peanut butter, grape jelly and bacon known to Elvis historians as Fool's Gold Loaf.
There is no better metaphor for the hunka-hunka scale-bustin' excess that was Elvis.
And so Wednesday morning took me to Cassano Grocery, Spokane's marvelous and iconic Italian market at 314 E. Sprague.
Owner Carl Naccarato agreed to create this colon-clogging colossus of calories and cholesterol in Cassano's kitchen.
(Watch the video fun.)
When we finished, I gazed at the glistening mound of PBJ & B-packed bread and realized that drugs didn't kill Elvis. A lot of junkies manage to live longer than the King's 42 years. The evidence to me is clear.
This sandwich killed Elvis.
Consider the ingredients:
1 loaf of Italian bread.
1 jar Smucker's grape jelly.
1 jar Skippy's peanut butter.
1 stick butter.
1 pound bacon.
Estimated serving size: 8-20. Or Elvis.
"If you see a sandwich like that and decide to eat the whole thing you know you're not doing the right thing," observed Naccarato.
This man was the perfect choice to carry out this culinary duty.
Not only is Naccarato a fine chef. He was also a bellman at the Ridpath Hotel when Elvis and his entourage shook up Spokane for concerts at the old Coliseum.
The year was 1973.
Crowds of adoring fans hung around the hotel, hoping for an encounter or even a glimpse of their idol.
Naccarato and some of the other wily bellmen made five bucks a pop selling forged Elvis autographs to the more gullible fans.
Naccarato relived the Elvis visit while making the Fool's Gold Loaf, preheating an oven to 350 degrees, frying the full pound of bacon and slathering the outside of the bread with an entire cube of real butter.
(Once buttered, the entire loaf goes into the oven for a 15-minute bake.)
Speaking of greasy things, Col. Parker, Elvis' lifelong leech of a manager, showed up a week prior to the singer's arrival for two sold-out shows. The colonel booked three full floors. He attended to details like making sure the windows in Elvis' room were painted black. Elvis slept during the day, partly from his night owl habits as well as his well-documented fear of the dark.
The Memphis Mafia, Elvis' private security goon squad, arrived packing enough handguns and automatic weapons to start a revolution.
The Ridpath, said Naccarato, tingled with electricity from Elvis' star power. Every effort was made to cater to the King's needs, including lobster dinners at "3 or 4 o'clock in the morning."
Elvis lived up his reputation as a superstar with a heart.
Out of toothpaste, he called for a tube. Naccarato came running. The bellman arrived to find the bodyguards boozed up and Elvis in the bathroom, which perhaps could be construed as a potty portent.
Naccarato passed over the Colgate. Elvis pressed a bill into the bellman's palm.
Back in the hall Naccarato gasped at what the King had given him: a $100 bill.
Naccarato eventually rose through the ranks to become the Ridpath's general manager. But of all his memories in the hospitality industry, the Elvis stay remains as one of most thrilling.
And now Naccarato can add Fool's Gold Loaf to his cook's credentials.
According to the Internet, Elvis had a legendary impulsive encounter with this sandwich of the gods in early 1976. It happened when some members of Colorado law enforcement were visiting Graceland. Their presence triggered memories in Elvis of the finest sandwich he had ever consumed.
Salivating, Elvis summoned his pilots, family members and pals. Suddenly they were off to Denver where Fool's Gold Loaf was a signature sandwich at one of the Mile High City's better eateries.
By the time Elvis and Co. touched down, or so the story goes, the restaurant owners had been summoned. They brought along nearly two dozen newly made Fool's Gold Loaves to a hangar with champagne to wash the grub down.
Oh, the magic of Elvis.
Naccarato pulled our loaf out of the oven at the sound of a bell.
All the butter had soaked into the crust. The chef then sliced the bread lengthwise and hollowed out the insides.
Following the recipe, Naccarato packed one half of the warm bread with all the Skippy's. Into the other half went the entire jar of jelly.
He then layered the pound of crisp bacon slices* across the peanut butter side.
*(I bought Redneck brand bacon. It just seemed right.)
Naccarato then joined the halves, thus sealing the deal.
A few slices later found us chewing and marveling at the surprisingly tasty Fool's Gold Loaf.
This is not light fare, my friends. The calorie content for an entire sandwich is somewhere around 8,000.
So be warned: Eat too many of these and you will be like Elvis.
Resting in PBJ & B.
Doug Clark is a columnist for The Spokesman-Review. He can be reached at (509) 459-5432 or dougc@spokesman.com.