Wednesday, May 16

Things I Ate That Will Probably Kill Me: Peels' Build-A-Biscuit

Truly, this post should just say, "Peels will be the end of me" because that's how much artery-hardening potential this place has for the blob contained inside my ribcage. Anywhere that encourages patrons to consume soft, doughy rolls, their choice of breakfast meats pooling in their own grease and a pastry in lieu of bread is satanic in the most indulgent of ways. It's my boyfriend's favorite breakfast spot; we never come here. You see the potential damage a'brewing.

Truth be told, the talk about this sandwich is nothing new. The build-a-biscuit has been a proper morning-after-boozing food choice for the type of people who use brunch as an adjective and put on a full face of makeup and coordinated outfit for the occasion, but I've never had it. Never, not once. I've always stuck with the ultra-depressing "Spa Eggs", which I'm convinced is given such a gut-wrenchingly humiliating name because the biscuit purveyors want to shame everyone who would order something so blase, which we clearly deserve.

Not this last time, though. Not this time.

While most take the sausage, egg & cheese route, I committed a potential unholy of unholys by going with fried chicken & avocado. On a biscuit. With a side of sausage. I wanted some of everything, and made it happen.

I'm too terrified to put it in a full sentence in fear of a mob of Eater readers banging down my door and lighting my apartment on fire, but frankly, I don' their biscuits? ACK. I can't help it, but it's too dry! It's too dryyyy. I'm not from the South so I'm admittedly no expert, but I've had my fair share of shit I shouldn't eat, and I know this isn't worth wasting a day's worth of calories on.

Though, I will say this: throw some fried chicken on top of it and smear it with avocado as a creamy green butter substitute and you've got yourself an OK meal.

Yet...pick around the biscuit, order Parker House Rolls to start and swap the room for carbs in your tummy for stolen bites of your tablemate's pancakes, and you've got yourself a dream.

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