As per Graeme Wood of TheDaily.com:
"The recipe, devised by restaurant owners Cindy and Buck Scott, was simple. Take a whole loaf of Italian bread and slice it lengthwise. Hollow it out and slather it with margarine. Then add a whole jar of jelly and a whole jar of creamy peanut butter, creating two large boats of PB & J. Finally, add a whole pound of fried bacon. Before adding the bacon, dab away the grease on paper towels (presumably to avoid adding unnecessary fat and rendering the sandwich disgusting). Then reunite the sandwich halves, deep-fry, and serve. For this, the Scotts charged $49.95, the equivalent of $189 in today's dollars."
Perhaps you've already heard the tale, whose place is now firmly cemented in the annals of local folklore. If not, as the story goes: Evidently, one night, The King was kicking at Graceland with a couple of Denver copper buddies (Capt. Jerry Kennedy and Ron Pietrafeso) with whom he'd become friendly on a ski trip to Vail a few weeks before. As he was chopping it up with the dudes, regaling them with a rundown of this 8,000-calorie Fool's Gold monstrosity he had once eaten at the Colorado Mine Company in Glendale, all of a sudden, that whole show-don't-tell notion came over him, and he dispatched his pilots, one of whom was named Milo High -- no shit! -- to fire up the Lisa Marie and point it toward Denver. Here's what reportedly happened when they got here.
"Awaiting Elvis and his two friends in a private hangar at Denver's Stapleton Airport was a scene worthy of the "Satyricon": 22 piping-hot Fool's Gold Loaves on silver trays, with a chest of cracked ice and Dom Pérignon on the side. Elvis, the two cops and the two pilots started eating at 1:40 a.m. and took two hours to finish. The cops drank Champagne; Elvis and the pilots drank Perrier. And then they got back in the plane and returned to Graceland."
... where The King eventually met his demise.
