Bryan Williams says (from Slate):
Would that my mother were here to defend herself. She went to her reward years ago, and with her went the Lincoln Log recipe. During what has been a painful day of culinary reminiscence on my part, all I can recall were Oscar Mayer "frankfurters" (as my dad still calls them, I believe in deference to the Supreme Court justice) split suggestively down the middle (I never watched that part, because as with lobsters, I was never really sure they were dead) and then slathered—in our version—lengthwise in mayonnaise. I know. How do you think I feel? That was my life in north Jersey. They made for a handy, portable heart attack on a bun. Enough aggressively bad food in a fist-size package to give the eater/victim instant angina (and this was years before he got voted off American Idol) if not worse. I remember we had to get a certain kind of bun—the Pepperidge Farm "New England cut"—so that when splayed open it presented more like a double-thickness slab of Wonder Bread. On the dog would go copious amounts of mayo—and in some houses, cream cheese. Always Breakstone's. My mom later developed some tsoris over the quality of the Oscar Mayers, so we switched to Hebrew Nationals.
He then goes on to describe several other culinary malfeasances perpetrated by his mother. He's a pretty funny writer, I must say. Doesn't make me want to eat a Lincoln Log, however.
Anthony Bourdain on Barack Obama: "He's from Chicago, so he knows what good food is."