Why Did I Eat This? Arby's Smoke Mountain Sandwich

It's sad and lonely at the top of Smoke Mountain

Before Philly Voice scoops me with their column that is, quite frankly, A DIRECT RIPOFF* of “Why Did I Eat This?” (I see you, Brian Bierman), I figured I’d file a recent trip to Arby’s, my first since a cousin’s wedding in Upstate NY over two years ago.

Unlike most of the garbage places where I poorly invest my daily calorie allotment, there isn’t a love/hate thing with Arby’s. Other than that one time me and Chris Kirsling smoked a bunch of weed (sorry, mom) and I single-handedly took down an entire 5 for $5 deal (that’s five regular roast beef sandwiches for five bucks), I’ve never walked out of there thinking, “I wish I knew how to quit you.”

You know where I'm headed with this. One by one, my favorite fast food joints are starting to let me down. For Arby’s, the disappointment came in the form of their latest offering, the Smokehouse Sandwiches.

I hadn’t even seen the commercials for these. I just happened upon an Arby’s on the way home from a project meeting**. When I walked in, the cardboard cutouts and giant photos got the best of me. Color me curious (and stupid), but the polish on these turds was just too much. On offer was pork belly (yes, pork belly at Arby’s), shaved brisket, and smoked turkey, each served on a glistening roll with onion strings, smoked cheddar, and an oil slick combination of mayo and BBQ sauce. Worse yet (or perhaps better?), you could get something called a Smoke Mountain, which was a combination of all three “meats” on one sandwich.

The Smoke Mountain IRL

So, rather than go quietly into the day with a Beef ‘n’ Cheddar, I put my head into the marketing lion’s mouth and made my bid for the Smoke Mountain summit.

And the view from the top was terrible.

I probably should have just gotten the pork belly sandwich. The shaved brisket was dry and the turkey was an afterthought. I was really in it for the pork belly, but judging by the few overcooked chunks that were intermingled with the other meats, it would have been just as disappointing on its own. The “Smoky Q Sauce” had a chemical aftertaste, and the crispy onion strings were soggy at best.

As mountaineers will tell you, “Getting to the top is easy. Finding your way down is the hard part.” My descent down Smoke Mountain was all headaches and stomach pain. I found solace in the curly fries, but little else.

I’m not mad at Arby’s, however. When your research tells you that things like pork belly are cool and sales are flat because you’re getting crushed by an onslaught of new and improved fast casual joints owned by fancy chefs and their stockholders, finding the next big thing to ruin is all in a day’s work.

I shall return to Arby’s, but I’ll stick to their standard offerings from now on. Buen provecho.

*To their credit, I don't post all that often these days

**This is a damn lie. I actually drove past the Arby's and doubled back because I couldn't stop thinking about it like that Simpsons episode where Homer goes to Clown College.

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? Wawa's Pulled Pork Burrito

This is probably the least appetizing picture of Mexican food I have ever seen.

Most people or places can't be everything to everyone, but Wawa will certainly never stop trying. The latest in their attempt to leverage trends is the burrito, whose launch happened right around the time of the E.coli outbreak at Chipotle. Coincedence? Perhaps, but I'll leave that to the 9/11 truthers and other people who wear tin foil hats. I am merely here to discuss the successes and failures of mass produced foodstuffs and whether you should give them a try. Is the Wawa burrito a success? Let's analyze a few key performance indicators to make the decision:

Heft: Wawa's value proposition, like the rest of the fast food world, wants to kill you. An abundance of food for little money makes everyone happy, including me. Whether that food is wholesome is another story. Once assembled, Wawa's burrito weighs in at over a pound, which isn't bad for five bucks. Grade: A-

Tortilla: The tortilla itself is passable, but Wawa uses the same industrial grade toaster they use for hoagies to warm up the assembled burrito. Mine was left in the dry heat of this contraption too long, leaving my tortilla as brittle as stale matzo. Grade: B-

Rice: As great of a cook that my mother was (and still is), her rice skills sucked. Rice was an afterthought after beans and green chile, and to this day, I still question its presence in a burrito. Wawa's rice was reminiscent of my mom's, a watery mess of bland overcooked mush. Grade: C

Beans: Beans are easy to fuck up, unless said beans are from a can. Like Wawa's. Grade: B+

Pulled Pork: I had the utmost confidence that this would be the worst part of the burrito. Wawa's meats are of the boil-in-bag variety. Surprisingly, despite the pork being underseasoned, it had a excellent texture and it was hard to tell whether it actually came from a boil-in-bag. Grade: A-

Overall Grade: B.

I'm just as surprised as you are, though I'll probably stick to hoagies moving forward. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This? Buffalo Wild Wings

They paved paradise, and put up a parking lot. And a Red Robin. And a Buffalo Wild Wings. And some self-service frozen yogurt shop that will be closed in six to nine months. And a PetValu.

But most importantly, a Buffalo Wild Wings, or B Dubs, as it is lazily shortened (because fuck syllables). For some, this is much more of a paradise than the empty field full of snakes and broken bottles (and at one time, deer probably, who are now displaced and confused and inevitably roadkill) it replaced. For me, it was a step just below adequate until the diarrhea kicked in later that evening and lasted most of the day Sunday and I contemplated arson. I don't understand how we as humans choose convenience over intestinal discomfort more often than not. I suppose it's easy to choose the path of excess when it's paved with five thousand times the recommended daily allowance of sodium. Wash it all down with a beer to forget that you're in the suburbs, then yes, it is paradise; a temporary vacation where you're given a "Guest Experience Captain" who will bring you unlimited samples of B Dubs' signature sauces and/or anything on draft (may I please have 100 samples of Miller Lite?).

The disappointing truth is that while you're dying to go there (whether ironically or not), the reason you want do is because of their endless commercials and the fact that it's more socially acceptable than Hooters. Aside from the glut of TVs in the place, it's no different than any other chain.

At least that was my experience. Our server was bummed that we only ordered a sampler platter and a snack size order of bone-in wings (plus two kids' meals), which were undersauced and just a touch past cooked. Raw chicken texture isn't my favorite. The boneless wings that were included in the platter were all bread and also devoid of sauce. The nachos were soggy, topped with mealy tomatoes and a congealed off-yellow queso. The mozzarella sticks held up, but you've got much bigger problems if you're fucking up mozzarella sticks.

Although I wasn't happy paying $60 for 48 hours' worth of intestinal discomfort, there's a 100% chance I'll go again because I hate myself. Plus, I didn't get my nifty cardboard hat this time, so they owe me that (I may also try out the unlimited beer sample scheme). If you can avoid being swayed by their marketing and that stupid winged buffalo logo, you're a better person than I. If not, stick to mozzarella sticks if you get suckered into going. Buen provecho.

Snap Judgment: Cleavers

After Spike Mendelsohn unceremoniously opened a Philly outpost of his Good Stuff Eatery in June of 2014 and then closed it a little over a year later, the lights are back on at 108 South 18th Street, this time in the form of a cheesesteak joint called Cleavers.

Although there wasn't much rework needed in the wake of Good Stuff Eatery's gut renovation of the space, the owners were smart enough to repaint and re-wallpaper all of the nonsense left behind by Spike's branding team. Unfortunately, they overcompensated a bit, plastering their namesake all over everything, including the salt and pepper shakers. They even have an actual brand they use to emboss their cheesesteak rolls (this is actually pretty cool but doesn't work as well as it should).


After my first bite, the reason for all this pomp and circumstance became dreadfully apparent.


This was a bad cheesesteak.


It was Upper mezzanine Aramark concession stand bad. Mall food court in Salt Lake City bad. Random country in the European Union trying to make a buck by leveraging Americana bad. Send it into Mikey Il's "This is Not a Cheesesteak" tumblr bad.

The seeded roll was so dense that I felt like a dog tearing at a chew toy in an attempt to extract the plastic squeaker with every bite. Each time, I lost a bit more of the underseasoned meat as it fell to the plate along with glob after glob of cheez whiz (at least they're using actual cheez whiz) until I was eating nothing but (bad) roll. The fries, of the crisscut variety, were also lacking in the salt department and soggy. In what seemed to be somewhat of a social experiment, there was one bottle of ketchup for the entire dining room (I hate ketchup so this didn't really affect me plus this is kind of petty because they just opened a week ago). If it actually were, I'm happy to report that humans, at least when fed, are generally friendly and willing to share their precious ketchup.

This "cowmap" is pretty fresh tho.

I'm not sure how (or if) they'll fix the bread situation, but I'm sure I'll give the place another shot in the near future. Hopefully by the time I go back, they'll have fixed the rest of the kinks as well, provided they don't shutter first. Buen provecho.

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? KFC's Nashville Hot Chicken

Nashville Hot Chicken is so hot right now. So hot, in fact, that Kentucky Fried Chicken has figured out a way to make the regional and legendary spicy fried bird available nationwide.

If you don't know the story behind hot chicken, Wikipedia is a great place to start. Basically, some scumbag dude's girlfriend wanted to exact revenge on him by dousing his chicken with cayenne pepper (and other secret spices). Unfortunately, the plan backfired when he liked the chicken so much that he developed a recipe for it and opened up a chicken shack of his own. Call it an unhappy accident.

Presently, Nashville touts a couple dozen places to get hot chicken, and plenty of chefs have brought it to their home states, including our local boy and Top Chef winner Kevin Sbraga. At his southern-inspired restaurant The Fat Ham, Sbraga's version is the result of many road trips and tireless research in the days leading up to its opening. And it's really fucking good. I would definitely consider him to be an expert on the subject matter, so it came as no surprise when I saw a picture of KFC's version pop up on his Instagram feed, followed by a lengthy review. His verdict? A failure in all categories. Bad breading, bad sauce, bad meat, bad seasoning.

Of course, none of this would deter me from giving it a go eventually, and I took it as a sign (literally) when the colonel's shit-eating grin kept popping up on the blue service signs on a recent road trip to Maryland. I told myself after the fifth exit advertising a KFC that if there was one at the sixth exit, I'd pull off. Well, you can guess what happened. Here's my opinion of mass produced "Nashville" hot chicken, in a handy dandy list:

1. Kevin's right about the sauce being too much. I watched the lady behind the counter empty almost half the squeeze bottle into the tray of chicken. There was a wading pool of it left over when I was done.

2. The chicken was adequately crispy despite the sauce waterboarding, but that's to be expected because KFC is using their extra tasty crispy chicken. Left dry, you could cut someone with the shards of breading.

3. The meat was fine. I always ask for dark meat so it's typically juicy (fatty) no matter what. I'm not gonna pretend that this wasn't factory farmed and I'm basically eating the fruits of modern food science instead of an actual chicken.

4. Flavorwise, Kevin's right. The chicken isn't hot. At best, it's lukewarm. I suppose naming it "Nashville Lukewarm Chicken" would probably hurt sales, though. My palate for hot chicken is not as refined, so I couldn't pick out anything that was really off balance in the spice blend other than the full court press of sodium.

Kevin says he won't get it again, but I think I would. It could have been a lot spicier, but I didn't mind the overall experience. It certainly wasn't "The Best Spicy Chicken You've Ever Had" (as the warned by the sticker on the box), but it was passable. I was also happy that I didn't get a preservative headache from KFC like I normally do. I certainly wouldn't go out of your way to try it, but if you find yourself finger lickin' for whatever reason, it's probably the best thing on the menu right now. Buen provecho.

We Have Reached Peak "Overhead Time-Lapse Recipe Video"

Take a look at the troll talent of "march_of_the_pigs" above.

Okay okay okay we need to pump the brakes on this whole time-lapse cooking thing. Last night on Instagram, 7-Eleven used the gimmick for what has to be the stupidest recipe I've seen since Rachael Ray's "late night bacon." Using the hashtag #hacksonsnacks, the bodiless arms disassemble everything from a Big Bite hot dog to a taquito and...

Wait a second. You're buying the prepared food just to take it home and unprepare it?

Let me go ahead and stereotype here because I'm an ignorant jerk. I assume that if you're stopping into a 7-Eleven for food, either the meth's wearing off, the weed's kicking in, or you're me. You're not doing so to repurpose their hot dog roller options for gameday snacks. 

Think about it. Chances are that most of the stuff has been sitting on that encased meat treadmill for at least three hours, and even if it hasn't, it still looks as old and shriveled as, well, I'm not gonna go there. And even if you live next door, you still have to wait for the "food" to cool down before slicing it up and topping it with cubes of cheese (because melting cheese is an integral part of every one of these goddamn time-lapse videos). Does 7-Eleven really believe that this stuff is stable enough to reheat? It's barely edible to begin with. 

I understand the need to be creative* in order to move products, but #hacksonsnacks is an insult to the Superbowl snack table. For shame, Sevs.

*Use words like "squad," phrases like "yo frands," and other peoples' ideas like time lapse videos.

The Cadillac Grille is a House of Lies

Part of my day job is letting salesfolks pretend to like me. There are a select few that can pull it off (and some I even consider friends), but for the most part, I think there's a mutual understanding of obligation. I'm sure these dudes actually hate me because I actually hate me. One the easiest ways to pretend to like me (or anyone, really) is sporting events. There's food, booze, and root-root-rooting for the home team. And since it's loud and you need to keep one eye on the action so you can cheer when everybody else does, you only kinda sorta need to pay attention to whatever products or services are being offered underneath that layer of cheese on your free nachos.

Last night was one of these sales calls, and we dined at the Cadillac Grille before the game. There were numerous indicators that this place would be shit: it's in the stadium; it's sponsored by Cadillac; the bartender flat out ignored me when I tried to get a drink; but I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth (what an odd, yet beautiful expression), and I couldn't really pull the plug on it since we were already in the stadium. Plus, I checked out the menu beforehand and it actually looked good.

My first instinct was to get the lamb shank, but the place had this whole steakhouse vibe going and the dude I was with ordered a filet so then I changed my mind and got the 30-day dry-aged bone-in ribeye for $55. I have no problem paying (or letting someone else pay) that much for a steak, so long as it shows up as advertised. Unfortunately, what I got was neither ribeye nor bone-in (I'd bet $55 it was a sirloin), nor did it possess any of the opulent qualities I would expect in a $55 steak. The dude who dropped it off must have seen the disappointment on my face, quickly commenting, "Yeah, these ones showed up without a bone this time." Huh? Typically, when a menu says "bone-in," the goddamn thing shows up with a bone, right? Although Serious Eats has debunked the myth that bones don't actually add flavor, how much more badass does your steak look when it's on the bone? That's really what I'm going for when I order a bone-in ribeye. I'm a motherfucking captain of industry and I have conquered the cow! But nope, not this time. It was cooked to temperature, so it had that going for it, but it was underseasoned and was thinner than something you'd get at Sizzler. The sides were another example of mismanaged expectations. The asparagus was as thin and limp as overcooked vermicelli, and the poor maitake mushrooms were cooked into a rubbery stringy pile of "those are mushrooms?"

It's not that the place is bad. The service was great (except for that bartender. He was a dick), as was the atmosphere (it's a fancy restaurant that overlooks the ice/court/stage). It's just way overpriced. Then again, when I'm with the gen pop, I pay $8 for a shitty beer and another $10 for some bullshit chicken fingers, so I suppose I just need to manage my expectations a little better. If you happen to find yourself there, I'd probably steer clear of the steak, however. Buen provecho.

The Infinite Sadness of the All You Can Eat Buffet

Freedom, loosely translated into anytime breakfast

Of the many things that makes the rest of the world hate us, the All You Can Eat Buffet has to be in the Top 10. What a terrible fucking idea. Steam tables as far as the eye can see housing hotel pans loaded with low margin meats and starches. Another island of cold foods: salad, beets fresh out of the can, cottage cheese, sunflower seeds, and Jell-O salad. Untouched, a still life of excess. An hour into service, an absolute wasteland. The salad dressings have turned into a tie-dye of unholy mixtures, there are bacon bits in the croutons, and a film has settled atop the oversalted and untouched mysteries lying in the hotel pans. The kids have attacked the self-serve soft serve, which now only dispenses a warm cream and sugar mixture slipping hazard.

And for what? Are you really beating the system when you pay twelve bucks to make yourself feel like shit for eating pile after pile of shit?

I remember our local buffet, a place called Chuck-A-Rama. In the late 80s/early 90s, if you were younger than 12, your folks payed 50 cents for every year you've graced the earth. They paid an absurdly low $9.99. There were two separate dining rooms with two separate buffets to maximize the amount of consumption, and we spent many a Friday easily tripling or quadrupling our recommended daily caloric intake. I don't directly blame Chuck-A-Rama for my huskiness, but I'm sure it didn't help. I suppose if you're poor (and boy were we ever), it was (and continues to be) a great deal. But I loathe the concept. That might make me a hyprocrite considering the general tone of this blog. Not sure I really care. Not sure there's even a point to this post. Just felt like complaining, I guess. Buen provecho.

Red Lobster's Crabfest Commercial is Bullshit

The last time I wrestled with a crustacean, I walked away with puncture wounds on 6 of my 10 fingers. Even dead, a lobster will fight back. The grocery store tank-to-table experience is gratifying nonetheless, and most of the time, it's much cheaper than going to a restaurant and requires way less pants.

The other added bonus is not looking like a jackass when trying to extract a scant chunk of meat from a shell more difficult to open than heat molded anti-theft plastic (another source of bloody fingertips).

What's my point here? Eating giant shellfish is hard, and Red Lobster is straight fucking with you if you think otherwise. Watch their Crabfest commercial and tell me I'm wrong. Marvel at the ease with which anonymous thumbs separate a crab leg to reveal a giant muscle of expertly cooked meat. Watch as a crab cracker encounters a shell so thin and brittle, it shatters at the slightest hint of pressure.

It's all a goddamn lie.

Here's the reality. You make your way to your neighborhood Red Lobster and proceed to order the "Mega Crab Feast with 36 Preparations of Crab (and two sides and cheddar biscuits," because YOLO. It's like $30, but remember: YOLO (side note: nobody says YOLO anymore, but YOLO, so YOLO). A few minutes later, a plate the size of your DirecTV satellite shows up, its center piled high with legs and claws. Flanked by a mess of gummy linguini to the left and an oversized ramekin of butter to the right, you're thinking, "This is what middle management's all about, bitches." You're also thinking, "I can't wait to shove this crab meat all up in my face, and it's going to be sooooooo easy."

Armed with this false sense of confidence, you grab the crab cracker and proceed to fuck shit up. And that's exactly what you do. First, a cluster of snow crab legs. Not sure how to approach this Rubik's cube, you try and pull a leg apart and hope the meat falls out in a neat pile, just like in the commercial. No such luck, so you resort to the cracker. You center it in the middle of a leg, expecting a clean break. Nope, wrong again. The shell buckles under the pressure until it finally gives, and you're left with a tiny little hole where the two halves of the cracker meet. Total bullshit, right? Then, you twist the rubbery shell in the hopes that tiny little hole will propagate into something big enough for the cocktail fork. This kind of works, but whatever progress you've made is nullified by the shape of the hole, and you're left with a few tiny shreds of crabmeat that don't exit as well you'd hoped. What's worse, you're crunching on shards of shell that stowed away during the extraction process. Not being one to give up, you do the same thing with the rest of the cluster. Your mounting frustration and hunger result in less crab and more shell with every leg. Finally, you surrender, waving your plastic bib in defeat.

At this point, your only solace is that pile of crab-alfredo mush. Call it the consolation prize, a final opportunity to "enjoy" some crab, but since you spent so much time wrestling with the damn crab legs, it has cooled into a congealed blob of fat and sodium.  It's a metaphor for the entire experience, and you have become a Red Lobster cautionary tale.

Many others will succumb to the siren song of that commercial. It's hard to resist that hunk of crab meat splashing down into a baby pool of drawn butter. If you're one of them, I urge you to manage your expectations, because the commercial above is bullshit. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This? Pizza Hut's Hot Dog Bites Pizza

'tis not a pizza, 'tis a many-headed hydra, sent from the darkest depths of fast food Hades to murder us from the inside.

Perhaps that's a bit dramatic.

It's really just a pizza that was creatively engineered to be equipped with a hot dog crust on some ultra low-brow Ferran Adrià type of shit. But of course I had to try it. And of course it kind of sucked. Admittedly, I was scared at first. I expected Pizza Hut's Hot Dog Bites Pizza to be dripping with grease and redolent with the fragrance of preservatives that cause migraines, but it was actually kind of dry. The crust you normally get from Pizza Hut--the one you can wring the butter out of--was replaced by a thin and wobbly breadlike substance held together by a few pigs in a blanket. I think my mistake was lingering too long at the wine store before picking up the pizza, but how does one choose the perfect white to pair with a Hot Dog Bites Pizza?

In any event, by the time I got the pizza home, filmed a couple failed monologues, took a few shitty pictures, and tried unsuccessfully to get the kids to even look at this pizza, the slices were cold, the sauce congealed, and the bread enveloping the hot dog bites hardened to day-old bagel status. Still, it was no worse than anything on Pizza Hut's regular menu (I have yet to try all of their new crust and topping permutations, however), although it was a bit of a challenge to eat as you approached the hot dog crust. Personally, I think the combination of hot dogs and pizza is worse than Donald Trump at a quinceañara, but when sales are down and your job's at stake, any idea is better than no idea.

You may have missed your opportunity to try it (Pizza Hut's website is no longer advertising the Hot Dog Bites Pizza), but count yourself lucky for not having done so. 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.

Wawa Employees are Stoners

Duuude. We should put BBQ sauce AND honey mustard on it. And pickles. And jalapenos. And onions. And cheese. Dude. Dude.

It's Hoagiefest, motherfuckers! For the next however many weeks, Wawa--the Philly area's mega-bodega--is offering deeply discounted 10" hoagies. To keep things interesting, the suits and ties at corporate looked to the employees this year to expand hoagie offerings beyond hot and cold and meatball and turkey.

The result is a menu of sandwiches bursting at the seams with every meat, cheese, topping, and condiment available, which is a telling tale of how some Wawa associates spend their free time. I'm not judging here. This is a boon to fat asses like me who appreciate a kitchen sink sandwich daily every now and again.

If you're feeling Colorado (or just plain curious), each creation is already programmed into the touch screen for ease of ordering. I tried the Texas Two-Step (pictured above) yesterday, and I was not at all disappointed with the combination of chicken fingers, jalapenos, honey mustard, BBQ sauce, pickles, and cheddar. Sounds hectic, but it works. Here are a couple more clear examples of recipes that really earn the tie-dye hoagiefest t-shirt:

The Flock: Turkey, Roast Beef, Ranch Dressing, Creamy Chipotle Spread, Spinach, Pepper Jack, Sweet Peppers, Tomato, Jalapeno

Wild Imagination: Cheesesteak Meat, Chicken, Ranch Dressing, Creamy Chipotle Spread, Buffalo Sauce, Provolone, Pepper Jack, Lettuce, Spinach, Tomato, Jalapeno, Pickles 

I forget how long the promo runs, but it's probably the best $4.99 you'll spend all Summer. Oh yeah, and they've got a game called Hoagiequest if you need a break from your first-person shooter. Buen provecho.

And the Award for Shittiest Meal of 2015 Goes to...

Maybe it's the fact that we decided to go out for dinner on Monday. Maybe this past Monday was, in general, one of those Mondays that gives Mondays a bad rap. Or maybe, just maybe, the Manayunk Brewing Co. has decided to mail it in with their food now that their beer is a level above your ambitious neighbor's "Dave-Brau."

At the risk of sounding like an insufferable Yelper, I'm going to bitch and moan for a few paragraphs in order to get this meal off my chest. Before I launch headlong into it, I will say that the service was great, albeit slow.

But the food was an absolute atrocity.

No sushi on Mondays, I get it. My daughter, not so much. Her reluctant second choice, apples drizzled with caramel for dinner. Three apple slices, two strawberry halves, six bucks, and none of it eaten.

Mrs. Gastro and I (since there was no sushi) decided to split fish tacos and artichoke dip. No fish tacos. Our reluctant second choice, a veggie burger that was allegedly house made. The provolone cheese and mayo both failed to mask the taste of freezer burn. The artichoke dip was another loser. Ten bucks for a baby handful of stale chips and a ramekin of brown goo.

The only bright spot on the table (which was covered in outdoor filth and pollen) was my son's chicken fingers. Unfortunately, he's not real big on sharing these days.

At the end of it, we dropped 70 bucks and got in a big fight. Two days later, I'm still depressed and angry. I guess the moral here is "Don't go out on Mondays, but if you do, get the chicken fingers. And now, a stupid Dos Equis meme to support this point. 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 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.