Jesus. H. Chicken.

I’m still scratching my head over the assault on the “regional food experience” available in no fewer than 39 states. The framing of the story was bad enough, because I’ve lived in six states and smelled that smell in malls in every single one. But was the whole “shyme, shyme” (as they yell in Oz) only a single donation of sandwiches by one franchisee? My sympathy to the displaced, but this was probably not the wisest target on which to deploy your Big Gay Weapon, the admirable and articulate ice cream vendor. As always, though, I do not blame the byline. Only the too many cooks with cursors who always spoil the broth.