Why Did I Eat This? Burger King's Mac 'n' Cheetos

Down with the King

I live an inevitable food truth: If it's 50% Cheetos and 50% macaroni and cheese, there's a 100% chance I'll eat it. Enter Burger King's Mac n' Cheetos, my self-fulfilling prophecy of sadness and sodium.

First came the sponsored post. Then, a straightforward #MACnCHEETOS hashtag. Finally, I'm making actual phone calls to BK locations in and around Philadelphia* to find out whether any of them are holding. Marketing really does work (at least on my own feeble mind).

And so there I was on a Friday evening, racing toward the local Burger King with my son in tow, who also happened to be stoked to eat a few neon orange mozzarella sticks (this makes me proud beyond belief). Rather than go full meal, we ordered nothing but the Mac n' Cheetos, lest we pollute our palates with flame broil.

$2.49 plus tax gets you five warm cheese puffs fresh out of the microwave. While we waited for them to cool, we scrolled through Snapchat geofilters until we got to the site/product specific "YASS CHEEEESE!"overlay (the marketing onslaught is worse than that time in Game of Thrones when all the dudes from Ramsay Bolton's army surrounded Jon Snow's army and then did that badass thing where they slowly closed their circle of spears whilst hiding behind shields), then we dug in.

Note the absence of Cheetos powder on the napkin

The outer shell, according to the BK product website, is covered with crispy Cheetos flavor. I didn't realize you could "cover" something with flavor, but I am neither a scientist nor a copywriter. Regardless of how it's accomplished, the consumer is rewarded with not having to deal with the dreaded Cheetofinger**. The innards were nice and creamy (like that one weird bite of a fried soft shell crab but without the briney poop taste), and the overall experience was a success in that I wanted to eat at least three or four orders. Seriously, if these were passed h'ors doeuvres (and they probably should be), I'd stand by the kitchen door and obliterate the tray before they made their way out to the crowd. I'm probably in the minority by saying this, but they might even have a slight edge over Taco Bell's Doritos Locos Taco.

And in case you're wondering, the answer is yes, I ordered a Whopper meal following the taste test. Please feel free to judge me. Buen provecho.


*I actually only made one phone call.
*An all-time favorite "Would You Rather?" of mine is, "Permanent Cheetos residue on your fingers? Or always (even in blistering July heat) having to wear a black suede jacket with fringe?". 

Why Did I Eat This? Taco Bell's Quesalupa

The gold wrapper's a nice touch, at least.

They said it was going to be bigger than man buns, hoverboards, and drones, but here's something to chew on: man buns, hoverboards, and drones don't really exist outside major metropolitan areas. Even with Amazon allowing the world access to anything and everything whenever we'd like it (through the use of what is essentially slave labor), most of our country 'tis of thee could give a shit about newfangled harstyles and methods of transportation (I'm totally speculating here).

So it's fitting that Taco Bell's Quesalupa has fallen flat on its deep fried face (again, speculating here. I live under a rock). I'm all for the innovation. Add more fat in the form of melted cheese to something that already rots your insides in the name of deliciousness. That's a fast food slam dunk. The trouble with cheese, however, is that its melted state is fleeting, especially when subject to below freezing temperatures and a quick stop into church to get some ashes in an attempt to be more Catholic even though you've got a sack of Taco Bell "goodies" tucked under your right arm so you can make the sign of the cross before having dirt smeared all over your face (which actually didn't happen because there was a whole mass to get through before you could get ashes and I was too hungry to wait).

This is what happened to me. I had to try the Quesalupa, but I also had errands to run. By the time I got back to my office, the cheese congealed, so when I ripped it apart, that cool thing where strings of melted cheese hang onto each other until finally yielding to the tension of my weak arms separating their gooey union was non-existent. Instead, the shell crumbled and the cheese tore apart like chicken skin separating from chicken flesh, and you could wring the fryer grease out of the whole assembly. This cheesy surprise that was supposed to be all the rage failed in spectacular fashion. The claim of pepper jack cheese inside the shell was also a lie. No flecks of diced peppers that I could see, and certainly no spice. At $3.99 for the chicken version, you're better off sticking with old faithful, the Cheesy Gordita Crunch (with a Dorito shell). Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This? Taco Bell's Cap'n Crunch Delights

If I had a dollar for every dollar I've spent on poor food choices, I might be able to afford the mountain of inevitable medical bills that will result from a life spent eating garbage. My latest questionable digestible? A 2-pack of Taco Bell's Cap'n Crunch Delights, an impulse buy I paired with a Grilled Stuft Nacho that was an impulse buy itself.

Under different circumstances, I may have enjoyed both, but almost missing a train and then having to eat them hunched over a greasy bag while sandwiched between fellow commuters made the experience one I'd like to erase from memory. For starters, the Grilled Stuft Nacho is an inane concept. Whereas the Crunchwrap Supreme maintains its structural integrity, the GSN has no tortilla chip skeleton, only bits and pieces of chips floating in a cumbersome blob of "cheese" sauce and sour cream barely held together by a tortilla triangle. It's impossible to eat on the go without making a mess.

Let's not get off topic, however. We're here to discuss the "delights," a misnomer if there ever was one. They're made to order, which would normally be a good thing, but my local Taco Bell (located at the stabbier end of Suburban Station) doesn't keep their grease hot enough to properly fry them. What I bit into had the texture of gulab jamun. In college, I spent a lot of time on the Indian food buffet circuit, and learned to loathe gulab jamun. Furthermore, any sweetness was overpowered by unmistakably rancid vegetable oil.

Perhaps if cooked at the right temperature and with time enough to eat like a gentleman, my opinion might change, but I'm certainly not willing to make the same mistake twice. If anyone disagrees, I'd love to hear your counterpoint. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

"There's a burrito in my quesadilla." - Taco Bell Wrapper

Behold, Taco Bell's version of a stuffed crust pizza. Originally something found on Chipotle's secret menu, Taco Bell did what any self-resepecting corporation would do with such a great idea: rip it off and market the shit out of it.

With little willpower and only a salad for lunch, I was an easy mark for the Quesarito, a burrito with a quesadilla shell. Sadly, the addition of said quesadilla is not accretive. Apart from the (also ripped off from Chipotle) cilantro-lime rice and a spicy mayo-based sauce, it tasted like your standard beef burrito, just with the added calories of an extra tortilla. For $2.80, you're better off getting a Cheesy Gordita Crunch with a Doritos shell. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This? Taco Bell's XXL Steak Taco

More of an XL, don't you think?

Today's trip to Taco Bell is brought to you by double-rationalization. Since I ran for a humblebraggingly long 45 minutes and I felt like writing (slow workday), I decided to treat myself, which was an XXL mistake. In the interest of your time, I'll keep this fairly short and to the point. Don't waste your money on the XXL Steak Taco. The slightly oversized shell falls apart at first crunch, and it's a bland sonofabitch (probably because I've spent the last year eating shells that are either made of assorted Doritos flavors or waffles). The steak wasn't actually too bad, though it was more brisket than steak, and there was nowhere near enough of it to warrant 'XXL' status. The avocado ranch sauce was more sour creamy than anything (not a bad thing), but the whole experience felt like I was eating a boring old taco supreme. Good thing I could chase it with a Fiery Doritos Locos taco. In retrospect, I probably should have just gotten two of those, which I could have done for the same price as one stupid slightly bigger taco.

In summary, we should just let Nate Robinson have them all, because we can't handle the XXL Steak Taco. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

Overmarketing. It's the way shit gets done these days. This time around, we've seen a Taco Bell Breakfast Phone, early previews extended to the media, and of course an endless Twitter feed perpetuating both. Not that I needed any real arm-twisting to try Taco Bell's new Breakfast Menu, even after I had been warned twice. The first red flag came from my best buddy's wife, who happened to be working on the campaign years ago. According to her, the Run for the Border Bosses' only requirement for the menu was that it had to be cheaper than McDonald's. The second warning was via this guest post last August, when another friend of mine was fortunate enough to be in one of the test markets. Still, this was something I needed to try for myself as soon as the opportunity came about, and by opportunity, I mean being late for work by getting off the train one stop early and making my way through the stabbier parts of Philly's Gallery Mall. Some opportunities are created.

I have a love/hate thing with Taco Bell (that skews toward love). In fact, the only reason I hate it these days is because mid-thirties me can't handle it from a gastrointestinal perspective. Getting old sucks, but I'm not here to complain about aging, I'm here to tell you that despite the facts that the casualty of Taco Bell's price war is "food" that could barely pass as such in a laboratory and my test market buddy wasn't totally impressed, I found Taco Bell's breakfast to be more than passable. So if you're still reading, here's a brief review of the Waffle Taco and the A.M. Crunchwrap. I skipped the breakfast burrito and breakfast taco because nobody really cares, and I also opted out of the Cinnabon Delights to stave off the impending diabetes.

Waffle Taco: The Waffle Taco is packaged in a carton whose lid taunts "Right Now I'm Eating a Waffle Taco and You're Not," the context of which only makes sense if you're sending a picture to your social media friends. Otherwise, is the carton eating your waffle taco? And what about the carton littered on the street? It's not eating a Waffle Taco, it's just garbage. I get it, but not really. And the taco itself? It's normally what I'll build at the Hampton Inn hot breakfast, some chafing dish bonanza whose sum is much greater than the parts. The waffle had the consistency of a rubber dog toy, but the sausage patty and side of syrup saved it. And the elastic nature of the waffle shell held the whole thing together quite well. I couldn't really taste the cheese, but I also ate the thing in two bites.

A.M. Crunchwrap: Because I blog so infrequently, I have yet to share my thoughts on Sonic's Ultimate Meat & Cheese Breakfast Burrito, a tour de force of meats, potatoes, cheese, and eggs. It is easily my favorite breakfast item in the fast food universe. The Crunchwrap is a smaller version of this concept. The size of an Egg McMuffin, it takes the best of what breakfast has to offer and wraps it up like a giant dumpling. There's none of the Waffle Taco braggery on the packaging. Instead, it offers the practicality of covering all your breakfast bases without having to use a fork and knife. And it tastes pretty damn good (because it's probably loaded with sodium).

If you think your stomach can handle it (or you simply don't care), both items are highly recommended. If nothing else, there's always the novelty of trying something you haven't before. And if that whole irony thing is still trendy, you can chalk it up to that if you feel guilty about eating at Taco Bell. Just take care not to get syrup in your handlebar mustache. Buen Provecho.

Why Did He Eat This?

Been way too long, folks. Way too long. Seeing how the laziness doesn't subside with old age (duh), and taking into consideration the fact that Philadelphia wasn't one of the chosen few test markets for the Taco Bell Breakfast (even though we are a lovely amalgam of actual fat people (me) and skinny fat people), I enlisted the help of a good friend in Nebraska, who was gracious enough to snap a few pics and offer his take on what is sure to be a disappointment once it lands in our fair city. Behold, the taste test results of Taco Bell's attempt at breakfast.

Words and pics courtesy of Matt Biggins, to whom we owe a debt for the intestinal discomfort:

I'm fine with the admission that I do enjoy Taco Bell. Of course, late at night, it's a no-brainer. But even daytime, 3 or 4 crunchy tacos are great. Like a couple cheeseburgers at McDonalds, even the fast food giants can do the simple stuff well. 

A few weeks ago, I made a run for the border. The marquee out front read "Breakfast Coming in August." Having seen nothing on TV or anywhere else, I was a bit surprised. Come to find out that Omaha is a test market. OK. Taco Bell and breakfast. Anything's possible, right? For the uninitiated, there are 3 main offerings being tested:

• Breakfast "Taco" - sausage and egg with a "shell' made of a small waffle. 

• A.M. Griller - Looks like a quesadilla with eggs, cheese and bacon or sausage. 

• Breakfast Crunchwrap - Also, looks like eggs cheese and bacon or sausage. Maybe a taco shell inside? I can't tell from the picture. 

I ordered one of each. The Taco looks like it has a big 'ol slab of sausage, so, anticipating the digestive activity of the next several hours, opted for the slightly lighter bacon on my Griller and Crunchwrap. 

First off, the Taco. This is the one I'm most excited about. I love waffles. Love 'em. And with sausage, giddy'up. The waffle is thick and tender, but oily. First bite, oil. Slightly stale oil. Not a promising start. The next couple bites improve, as the sausage flavor takes over. I was expecting some sort of maple crystals in the waffle, like a McDonalds McGrillers. That or some kind of maple-y sauce. But there is none. Pretty disappointing. 

Next up, the A.M. Griller. It's like a soft taco, filled with breakfast. The bacon flavor reminds me of imitation bacon bits. Not a bad thing, but not great. With a bunch of hot sauce, this one is totally decent. 

Finally, the Crunchwrap. A hash brown(!) replaces the tostada shell. There's also a slightly spicy sauce that tastes like their quesadilla sauce. It's a lot smaller than the normal Crunchwrap, so there's more tortilla per bite. And the potato adds some heft to this. Pretty heavy for a breakfast, but tasty. Again, the bacon flavor tastes artificial. I'm sure sausage wrap is better. 

Having eaten halfway through each item, my stomach is not pleased. This is certainly one of the greasier breakfast meals I've had. While I can get down and enjoy a greasy pile o' fast-food, morning is a rough time to do so. Perhaps to nurse a hangover, a Breakfast Crunchwrap and a big-ass Mountain Dew may hit the spot, but I'd rather spend the junk food points on a big plate of biscuits and gravy. 

Caveat emptor, readers, and as always, buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

The trouble with gimmicks, even the bright orange crunchy ones, is their inherent lognormal distribution. Out of the gate, Taco Bell's first Doritos Locos taco was in heavy rotation, and rightly so. The "oh shit why didn't we think of that before?" combination of crappy fast food and crappy snack food was a monumental success, but like beating Street Fighter II on one quarter with Blanka for the 30th time, its novelty faded, settling beyond the third sigma where one can comfortably avoid being seen making a run for the border and heard in the toilet immediately following. I lost count of how many Doritos Locos tacos I have eaten since their debut almost a year ago, and it has been at least a month since my last one.  I had all but forgotten about the brilliant combination until Hahri Shin's Twitter feed reminded me that the brain trust at Taco Bell was diversifying their Doritos Locos portfolio with a Cool Ranch shell. And it would be ready a day early. And that day was today (well, yesterday, since you're probably reading this on Thursday).

With curiosity and expectations high, I made my way to the nearest Taco Bell thinking my life would be changed once again. That was my first mistake.

Why Did I Eat This?

If you've been watching the Olympics, you have no doubt seen (or at least fast forwarded through) Lorena Garcia throwing prop spices on prop food to promote Taco Bell's blatant ripoff of Chipotle/Qdoba, the Cantina Bell menu.  The story we're being fed is that the Latina stereotype/current contestant on Top Chef Masters was the inspiration for the new items, drawing from her vast experience with big bold flavors.  Oh yeah, and she's Venezuelan, too.  Not sure how that translates to fast food Tex-Mex (if you can call it that), but the long and short of it is that our border buddies are trying to beat Qdotle (see what I did there?) on price, asking us consumers "Think Taco Bell Can't Do Gourmet?"

Even before trying it, the answer was obvious.  I KNOW Taco Bell can't do gourmet, but I could give a shit if they could.  I go to Taco Bell for Doritos Locos Tacos and Cheesy Gordita Crunches.  I love the powdery taste of the barely beef, the waterlogged lettuce, and sometimes even the horrible abdominal pains that remind you to stay away from it all for as long as you can.

Still, I had to try their attempt at "gourmet,"  and I was curious how the ripoff would translate when it wasn't styled and made to look as appetizing as it does on TV.  Here's a lazy list of what you can expect from their Cantina Bowl if you decide to try it for yourself:

Why Did I Eat This?

Are we certain that we should be eating these colors?

I'm going to skip the formalities and get straight to the point.  Leave work now and find your nearest Taco Bell so you too can try this brilliant combination of Doritos and dog food-grade meat that is a marriage more perfect than Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman.  A few quick pros and cons about the experience:

Pro: It's your standard Taco Bell taco, but the shell is caked in nacho cheese powder.  There is some expectation of how it's going to taste, but nothing can prepare you for how well it goes with the taco fillings.
Con: The wet beef makes the "hinge" of the shell soggy.  If you've ever been at the beach or on the lake when some jackass forgets to close the bag of Doritos, then you know what I'm talking about.  In my case, it was just a jackass food blogger (me) taking too many pictures.

Pro: Since there is a finite amount of shell, your Dorito intake is limited by the amount of tacos you can eat instead of speed eating an entire bag of (Family Size) chips in one sitting.
Con: Powdered cheese fingers.  Although it's 2012, scientists have yet to figure out a way around this clothes-ruining nuisance (I just now realized that I could have used the cardboard sleeve to avoid this. Fuck).

Pro: $1.69 for the Supreme version.
Con: The low price guarantees that the next time I go, I'll order a dozen of them, and since I hate wasting food, I'll have to eat the entire lot.

One final note about this taco.  I'll typically go through ten packets of Fire sauce (on two tacos) with any Taco Bell meal.  I think that's standard operating procedure for most of you, but take heed that if you do so, the delicious Doritos flavor will nullified.  Buen provecho.

Launching Today: Doritos Locos Tacos

Keep your browsers tuned to Fidel Gastro today for a very special (and long overdue) entry of Why Did I Eat This?  It's a Dorito.  It's a Taco Supreme.  It's worth falling prey to the nostalgia of Taco Bell and their new "Live Más" marketing campaign, which is ironic considering this shit will kill you. But if it's anything like crossing the streams in Ghostbusters, the reward of combining two hyper-processed pseudo-Mexican products will be worth the risk.  Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

It should come as no surprise to the sue-happy consumer that Taco Bell's "Taco Meat Filling" contains less than 40% beef in its composition.  I understand the whole "truth in labeling" thing, but c'mon people, you're eating fast food.  You should already know that it is hyper-processed, pregnant with preservatives, and generally contains little to no "food" at all.  But who gives a shit?  It's cheap (and getting cheaper, even with commodity prices on the rise), fast, and convenient.  So what does my fat ass do with the news?  I immediately make a run for the border to try their latest offering (of course), a collaboration with Frito-Lay (that's a bit of a stretch) that is the textural masterpiece known as the Beefy Crunch Burrito.  Simply put, the sum of Flamin' Hot Fritos and their standard "beef" burrito is greater than the parts.  The sour cream eases the hot-for-hot's sake of the Fritos, and to repay the favor, they give the mushy little burrito some structural integrity.  Beef or no beef, these things are small enough and cheap enough that you may want to eat three or four, and I see nothing wrong with that.  Furthermore, for those of you in favor of this whole lawsuit, know this: if you fuck up Taco Bell for the rest of us, I will personally see to it that a laxative will somehow make its way into each and everyone of your meals until you meet your respective makers from a hopefully non-poop-related death (because I don't want you to think I'm making threats here, just promises of discomfort). Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

 Taco Bell is really pushing the menu envelope. First, they almost kill me with a shrimp taco, and now, they've added a Cantina Taco to the menu, a damn near perfect replica of something you'd expect to be fed as an innocent kidnapping victim of narcotraficantes.  Not that it's a hard thing to fuck up (there are 5 ingredients if you count the lime), but it's still fast food. Let's taco 'bout it:

1. A lime actually does come with each taco.  Tucked into the folds of foil, its freshness was debatable (food additives can do wonders for appearance), but it did the trick.
2. The corn tortillas, doubled up just like they do in the cantina, weren't terribly brittle.  Taken at face value, however, even the best corn tortillas have little to offer in the way of flavor.
3. The cilantro bled all over the white onions, giving them an offputting greenish-brown hue like that of guacamole left out too long.  The mixture was also soggy.  More than the flavor of onions, I appreciate their crunch, which was lacking here.
4. The pork was mushy, and as you can see in the picture above, it looks a lot like the "beef" that's ubiquitous in the rest of their offerings.  It really didn't taste too bad, though.  Perhaps a grain too salty, but with sodium levels in fast food being as high as they are, it's a taste that's hard to mask.

I think we paid something like $1.89 for each one.  If you find yourself at Taco Bell for other reasons (Mexican Pizza, maybe), it's cheap enough for you to try, and there's no reason you shouldn't.  Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

At the risk of having a trio of douchebags materialize out of thin air, I went ahead and ordered the Bacon Club Chalupa, thus falling off the Taco Bell wagon once again.  Granted, I was in a drive-thru on City Avenue, where the likelihood of a combination stabbing/carjacking is ten times that of getting hit on by a few feathered-hair passersby than it would be in the brightly lit and clearly exclusive club shown in the above commercial, so I wasn't too worried about an onslaught of douchebags.  I'm also a dude.  I also do my best not to carry a clutch, but every now and again, it's unavoidable.  But enough about my fashion sense.  Let's talk about what happens when Taco Bell runs out of ideas thinking outside the bun and goes back to thinking inside the bun.

The Wall Street Journal, master of the obvious, is only now stating what we already know: people love themselves some bacon.  Pork belly prices are up 53% from last year. But my favorite part of the article is the fact that bacon demand coincides with an increased consumption of BLT sandwiches in the summer (if I was one to write "WTF," this would be where I would write it).  Thinking back, I don't recall summer being associated with BLTs, but apparently Taco Bell is hip to the game.  Let's see how it stacks, er, folds up against what the Journal claims to be summer's most popular sandwich:

1. The crunch of the toast, even though it doesn't get its name on the marquee, is one of the most important parts of the BLT.  The chalupa shell, limp from an extended bath in the fry grease, was a terrible proxy for the toast.

2. The lettuce and tomato were minutes away from being rancid.  Even the smoky flavor of the bacon couldn't mask the acrid taste.

3. Speaking of the bacon, it was diced so small that I could have snorted it.

4. The chicken was barely there, maybe a chunk or two, and not worth commenting on.

5. Another key ingredient to the BLT is the gloppy, oozes-out-the-side mayonnaise (a very good thing).  In its stead, Taco Bell substitutes "club sauce," a watery thin condiment that looks and tastes like whitewash.

I think there's a concurrent promotion happening with the cheesy gordita crunch.  If you're going to fall off the wagon, it's really the only thing worth ordering at Taco Bell.  If you don't believe me, ask the other 2,693 people that like it on Facebook.  Yes, the cheesy gordita crunch has more fans than me on Facebook.  Get liking people, and use your disposable income for better things than a bacon club chalupa.  Buen provecho

Why Did I Eat This?

Maybe it's because I'm Mexican, but I find it very hard to fuck up beans, cheese, grilled chicken, and tortillas.  Not knowing whose concept Baja Fresh belongs to, I'll just assume that it's a bunch of white dudes in suits who say "tor-till-uh" instead of "tor-tee-yah," and then proceed to talk a bunch of shit on their inadequate burritos.  Here goes:

1. When your fresh salsa bar sits out from 11am to 9pm, I question exactly how "fresh" any of it can be at 8pm, hours after the acid in the tomato finally loses the battle to the acid in the lime, and the pico de gallo becomes a mealy mess of sodden produce. The mango salsa suffered a similar fate, and what remained resembled canned peaches in syrup (a bad thing).
2. Don't put the word "fresh" in your menu if you're going to serve the chicken with the artificial grill marks.
3. "Enchilado" is neither a word nor a style.
4. Since you're really not much higher up the food scale than Taco Bell, I strongly recommend not serving fish.
5. Tortillas should be gently warmed, not toasted to the point of crumbling at the slightest bit of pressure.

I imagine we'll eat here again because it's so close, but if you can avoid it, you should do so at all costs.  You're better off just buying a can of beans and a stack of tortillas from the grocery store.  Buen provecho.

Our local Baja Fresh is on Ridge Pike across the way from FWOT in the shopping center where there's an REI.  We wasted $18 on two burritos and two sodas.  The burritos came with chips, but they were soggy and salty and very upsetting to eat.

Why Did I Eat This?

Another relapse with Taco Bell. I needed a fix after finally getting my PA drivers license (it took months to do so, but the story is real boring and makes me look lazy, so forget I even mentioned it). This time I fell victim to a bunch of sweaty groomsmen and a sockeye salmon colored shell, both of which elevated my expectations regarding the heat factor. And since the portion control section of my brain shuts off under such duress, I ordered the Big Box meal, which comes with a Volcano taco, a regular taco, a Volcano burrito, and cinnamon twists.

Unfortunately, the Volcano offerings didn't really erupt with flavor. The mayonnaise that T-Bell tries to pass off as cheese sauce zeroes out any potential heat. There were other eruptions, but we're talking food here, so I'll spare you the details. Buen provecho.