the substars

As you may have guessed based on an attentive listening-to of Buildings, I loves me a chicken sandwich every so often. But fast food chicken sandwiches are a rather unpredictable bunch; while some are pretty much the only way some of us can reasonably satisfy a late night lusting for flesh, others are not really something you associate with being inside a previously-living thing. So when I saw an ad for the Arby’s Southern Style Chicken sandwich, you know I was excited, but also wary.

The Arby’s spin on chicken should serve as a confidence booster to outright fraudsters everywhere; that they have the cojones to denigrate other restaurants for having chicken that is insufficiently “natural” is pretty impressive given the shroud of mystery surrounding what actually comprises their weird-albeit-kind-of-good roast beef. Still, I have something of an affinity for Arby’s and was intrigued by their recent promotion of a Southern-style chicken sandwich. They looked edible, and are current priced at a mere four dollars for two of them. So Meghan and I paid the Lake Street Arby’s a visit to see if this chicken sandwich could possibly merit a tune of its own someday.

Arby’s Southern-Style Chicken

Purchase price: $5.99 (two sandwich combo w/ medium curly fries and drink) or 2/$4.00

Apparently, “Southern-style” chicken presentation involves surrounding a chicken breast filet with a bun, mayonnaise, and pickles. Having favored these condiments on chicken sandwiches of my own creation in the past, I never thought of these as particularly Southern sandwich characteristics, but Meghan observed that this is essentially what Chik-Fil-A does with their sandwiches, and a Google search reveals that some McDonald’s locations offer a similarly-marketed product. I’m not a Southerner, so I’ll have to trust their respective marketing departments on that one.

As shown in its pre-masticated state, the sandwich is somewhat smaller than other Arby’s chicken sandwiches. Perhaps this is another obscure Southern touch, but I thought the size was kind of awkward; they look as if one might not entirely sate your dead bird lust, but two would be a bit more calories than you’d care to consume.

Looking inside, the sandwich features a white meat chicken filet that I would judge better than the spongy not-really-chicken some places serve, but not especially moist or flavorful. I also bit into a piece of cartilage or something in one sandwich. The pickles were serviceable, but decidedly fast-food grade; I was expecting a bit better since Arby’s has deli-style sandwiches on their menu (which apparently do not have pickles on them, as it turns out–heresy!). The bun appears to exist specifically for this sandwich, but was otherwise typical Arby’s fare.

All in all, it was kind of…blah. I plan on doing some subsequent reviews, but a few more sandwiches like this might lead me to review buildings or cities about six hours away from Milwaukee or something, because this one really wasn’t good enough to love, but wasn’t bad enough to swear off permanently. Who knew that such a thing would not come of a trip to Arby’s.

Why you might like it:
You have four dollars and wish to eat two okay sandwiches. You find McDonald’s and Burger King chicken unacceptable and work in a suburban wasteland or mall food court where these are the only quick options. You understand that pickles on a chicken sandwich is a win, and probably live somewhere where there is no Chik-Fil-A. You like curly fries dipped in Jamocha shake.

Why you might not: You like to match calories eaten to calories burned and can’t manage to leave half a sandwich uneaten. You prefer food that tastes like something. You revel in the newfound ubiquity of fried chicken wrapped in a tortilla.

My (additional) two cents: Meghan asked for regular fries with her roast beef sandwich, and the woman taking our order replied that they haven’t had not-curly fries “for about a year or so.” When I got a job at Arby’s in the mid-90s, I went to town on the curly fries for a couple weeks, then got totally sick of them and ate the regular fries with meals instead until I quit a year later. Had I not had this option, it might not have been worth $4.25 an hour to work there. Also, while the raw roasts are neither a liquid nor a paste, they sure don’t look like roast beef.

If you transformed into this sandwich: no one would notice, unless you were moderately interesting prior to said transformation.