April 12, 2007



The Clinkito
Scared straight by a correctional culinary classic

Written by Sean Wilkinson
Photos by Sean Wilkinson and Mich Ouellette

Here at The Bollard, we're ever exploring the world of gastronomical oddities worthy of documentation. The previous entry in our twisted food diary was the Yard of Flannel, a tenaciously nauseous adversary that left us reeling with churning guts and sour breath [read about that adventure here].

Recently, a rumor came our way – an inspiring rumor of ingenuity-meets-convenience. That rumor was the story of the "prison burrito," alternately referred to as the "greybar chimichanga," the "hoosegow grinder" or, our favorite, the "clinkito" (klink • EE • toe).

While doing time in the Concrete Hilton, one has very limited access to the delicacies we outsiders take for granted. After poring over several prison commissary inventory lists, we determined that the closest free-world approximation to the offerings in a typical prison pantry can be found at the skeeziest gas station food-mart in your neighborhood. Here's the recipe…


Inmate Ouellette with the ingredients before and after crushing.


The Clinkito

1 small bag corn chips
1 small bag BBQ chips
1 package of ramen noodles
1.5 cups hot water

Crush contents of all bags into tiny bits. Combine in one chip bag or Ziploc ® bag. Shake to mix. Add hot water and knead until contents are evenly moist. Squeeze contents to bottom of bag, flatten the upper part of the bag, and roll contents into a log-like cylinder, squeezing out as much air as possible.

Wrap bag in a towel to insulate, and watch over it lovingly for 20 minutes. It's not as if you have anything better to do.

After 20 minutes, unwrap the clinkito and shiv anyone who tries to get near it. Devour menacingly.

Note: You can add anything you like to spice up the clinkito: Tabasco, Slim Jim, NutraSweet, shoelaces, etc. Use your imagination!


Inmate Ouellette passes the time while the clinkito coagulates.


We purchased our ingredients at the Mobil on the corner of High Street and Park Avenue. I stood guard while Mich bought Fritos, Lays BBQ-flavor chips, and Top ramen noodles. We spiced up our clinkito with a Tijuana Mama pickled sausage.

Crushing the ingredients was easy, even with our delicate, ladylike bitch-hands. We sliced the pungent sausage – essentially a tiny hot dog suffused with red food coloring and vinegar – and added it to the bag. We then slowly poured in the hot water. The aroma was instantly unpleasant. It smelled like a sock – a sock that got sweaty twice, dried to a crust, and was then remoistened and placed on a radiator. Not appetizing.

The appearance and feel of the meal didn't help. As Mich said in disgust while kneading the bag, "Oh, man! It feels like a hot, pukey tit!" Curious, I had to feel for myself. His story checked out.

We wrapped our afternoon treat in a towel and sat back to while away the time. Twenty minutes passed, and while no screws were looking, we unwrapped our hot, smelly towel and discovered that the expanding starches had burst the plastic bag, which explained the nauseating odor emanating from beneath the cushion we'd used to incubate our clinkito.


A clinkito is born and bursts its bag.


The taste? Well, the aroma gave it away. It tasted like it smelled: stale, corny and chalky, with a vomit-like film that stuck to the back of our throats. The real surprise was the texture: firm, yet gelatinous; greasy, yet floury.

After several bites, we pondered: "Why on earth would anyone, for the love of God, combine these ingredients in this manner instead of just eating some corn chips, then some barbecue chips, followed by some ramen?" We supposed the answer must be either sheer boredom or animalistic desperation.

In the end, this thing scared at least one of us straight. Wiping soggy ramen and corn chip goo from his beard, Mich declared, "If this is what happens in prison, I'm never going to prison. I might go to jail, but I'm never going to prison."


The federal prison burrito, or clinkito supreme.


Author's note: We also attempted an "upscale" version of the recipe, which we referred to as the "federal prison burrito" or "clinkito supreme." For this variation, we purchased ingredients at Whole Foods Market, and used whole grain, organic chips and ramen noodles, with some marinated tofu for added protein. From this experience, we learned three key things:

1. Whole Foods is more expensive than Mobil.
2. Whole grain, organic chips are harder to crush.
3. You cannot make a clinkito taste good.


Sean Wilkinson and Mich Ouellette are the art directors of The Bollard. They can be reached at design@thebollard.com.