Are you trying to poison me? I don’t know what you think this is but a bacon sandwich? I’m afraid that’s not it.
It’s so pink, it’s almost still alive. If I hold it up to my ear, you know like kids do with those seashells, I reckon it might oink.
I’m obviously talking about the ‘great’ golf club bacon butty. There shouldn’t be a finer way to get a day’s golf off to the perfect start.
But it’s been years since I was handed a pre-round feast that merited the description.
We’re not talking Michelin-starred cuisine, are we? I mean, how hard is it? Stick it on the grill, turn it occasionally until it’s crisping up and then put it in a bun.
That’s a bun that’s preferably been lined with a nob of butter and a splash of red sauce. Or brown. I mean knock yourself out, I’m not a monster.
The golf club bacon sandwich: Why is it so hard to find a good one?
That is not what this this, though. And you’ve charged me a fiver and more for something that should be sent truffling.
The least you could do is make it warm. Yes, I can imagine you ‘cooked’ about 150 of these things and got up at the crack of dawn to do it.
But if it sits in that foil any longer it’ll be able to apply for asylum.
So it shouldn’t be any wonder that I’m looking around at plates of half-eaten efforts or, worse, still untouched. It’s because we all know it’s an E. coli disaster waiting to happen.
We’re just one bout of D+V from the whole place being cordoned off and hospital wards full of patients and ambulance chasing lawyers.
It’s so bad your bacon sandwich may be enough to turn me vegetarian. All right, let’s not get carried away.
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Does your golf club do a good bacon sandwich? If so PLEASE let the Angry Club Golfer know in the comments below or via X.
