It was 1976. Nick Andurlakis was working in the kitchen at Denver’s now-shuttered Colorado Mine Company when the phone rang. Ron Pietrafeso, of the Denver Police Department, wanted to bring a special guest to the restaurant. He asked if Andurlakis could stay late. “Sure,” the sixteen-year-old told him.
USED BY PERMISSION, ELVIS PRESLEY ENTERPRISES, INC
Sometime after midnight, a group of uniformed policemen arrived at the back door of the restaurant. Among them was Elvis Presley, dressed in a captain’s uniform.
“He asked me to sit down with them,” says Andurlakis, “I was nervous. I mean, I was just a dumb teenager. Elvis asked, ‘What would you recommend?’” Andurlakis, recalling the King’s penchant for peanut butter-and-banana sandwiches, suggested the Fool’s Gold Loaf, a four-pound monster of a sandwich stuffed with peanut butter, blueberry jam, and bacon.
“Sounds good,” Elvis said. “Make me one.”
Several months later, Andurlakis was going over inventory at the restaurant when the phone rang again. This time, it was Elvis himself. “We’re out here at Graceland,” he said, “and we want some peanut butter, jelly, and bacon sandwiches.”
Photo used by permission, Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc
Within hours, Presley’s jet had touched down at Denver’s Stapleton Airport. Andurlakis was waiting there with sandwiches, Perrier, and champagne. “They took the food from me, and Elvis said, ‘Sit down, let’s talk,’” he recounts. “We ended up talking for three hours.” When Andurlakis left, Elvis flew back to Graceland without ever having left the tarmac in Colorado. His trip, and the sandwich that spurred it, became the stuff of legend.
Today, Nick Andurlakis runs a little café in the town of Golden, Colorado, decorated from floor to ceiling with Elvis memorabilia. The devoted fan can still order a Fool’s Gold Loaf—the house specialty—from the man who served the King. But if you need your Fool’s Gold now, and you’re short a private jet, here’s his recipe.
