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.

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.

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.

Why Did I Eat This? Lance BOLD Crackers

The latest in an effort to blanket the entire world in buffalo wing sauce (and then top it with bacon), Lance BOLDS cracker sandwiches grab their nerdier counterparts by their day-glo orange shoulders and kick them square in their Toast-Chee nuts. Remember the Bonestorm episode of the Simpsons? That was me at the grocery store yesterday. I told my entire family to "Buy me Lance BOLDS crackers or go to hell!"*

Fast forward to 10am this morning, when I'm ready to make snacktime EXTREME!  The spokesbro for Lance BOLDS is Nyjah Huston, a 20-year old skateboarder who's had a skateboard under his feet from the time he could walk. Armed with that knowledge, I'm expecting to be able to switch kickflip at least 10 stairs after my first cracker.**

I started with Buffalo Wing Blue Cheese, which have the same orange hue as Lance's Toast-Chee variety. I expected a pronounced artificial flavor, but instead got a mouthful of heat and an excellent rendition of blue cheese flavor. These were the best approximation of buffalo flavor I've had since Herr's Buffalo Blue Cheese Curls.

With my mouth on fire and expectations riding high, I moved on to the Bacon Cheddar flavor. What should have been another roundhouse kick to the face turned out to be a disappointingly bland and crumbly cracker. I should have been on high alert after noticing that the "bacon" crumbles studded into the cracker itself resembled a bunch of scabs, which is probably what happens after you assume that you'll be good at skateboarding after eating these cracker sandwiches.

Ew, there's scabs on my crackers.

There's a third flavor, Pizza (yes, just plain old pizza), but fuck that shit. I guess one out of three ain't bad, especially since the Buffalo Wing Blue Cheese (BWBC) flavor was so damn good. Stay tuned for an update on how much better I am at skateboarding after eating these. Buen provecho.

*Actual Interaction: Me putting two boxes of crackers in the shopping cart and then moving on to the coffee aisle.

**Ed. Note: Lance BOLDS makes no guarantee about improving ability to skateboard.

Why Did I Eat This? A Cronut for the Rest of Us

Back in May of 2013, the world lost its shit over the Cronut, a pastry likened to a croissant-donut hybrid created by Dominique Ansel in New York City. Lacking both the time and the patience, I didn't bother to go out of my way to see whether or not it was worth waiting in a line of Shake Shack proportions. Hell, I didn't even try any of the clones that popped up locally. To be honest, I just wasn't that interested, and I prefer to keep my donuts and croissants separate, much like my quesadillas and burritos.

Fast forward to now. Ansel has released a cookbook so we can all fuck up his recipes at home, and Dunkin' Donuts has finally reverse engineered a way to bring shelf-stable Cronuts to the masses. Since the word "cronut" is trademarked (shoulda, coulda, woulda, "Flaming Moe"), Dunkin' is simply calling them "Croissant Donuts," and retailing them for $2.49. They come in their own nifty little box instead of being haphazardly thrown into a brown paper bag (cute touch), and while they resemble the iconic pastry, they aren't that different than Dunkin's regular glazed donut. The butter flavor tastes artificial, the layers of pastry dough aren't flaky, and the shellac of milk and confectioners' sugar slurry weighs the whole thing down. Simply put, it tastes like diabetes with a heart disease filling.

At some point in the future (provided we're not all dead because the world is horrible and full of horrible people), I hope to try the original. For all of you out there, I'd recommend doing the same and skipping this clone in favor of a few extra years on your life. 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? McDonald's Bacon Clubhouse

There are no redeeming qualities to this sandwich. Fuck this sandwich.  

Why Did I Eat This? Domino's Specialty Chicken

Contrary to what Eater reported, Domino's Specialty Chicken doesn't really qualify as "pizza with a breaded chicken crust," but it's as good a description as any for the pile of fried chicken chunks fused together with cheese and drizzled with assorted sauces.

Whatever the nomenclature, it's hard not to like this marriage of appetizer and main course. We tried the Classic Hot Buffalo and the Crispy Bacon and Tomato offerings, and both were great, albeit small. When I opened the box and saw that they were no bigger than a French bread pizza, I was disappointed, even though you get at least a dozen chunks of meat that actually have the taste and texture of chicken. This turned out to be a good thing, however, because it forced me to control my portions. Granted, I went to bed hungry, but at least I could look myself in the mirror when I woke up. Right now, you can get two for $5.99 each. I strongly recommend ordering six. 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?

The prospect of caramelized onions was enough to sucker me into trying the latest attempt at fast food gourmet, the McDonald's CBO Angus Third-Pounder. Click through for a brief (three) photo essay that captures my stupidity and the sadness of this sandwich.

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?

I feel bad for Wendy's.  Without Dave Thomas, the marketing's not the same, nor will it ever be.  For whatever reason, it was like they didn't even have to try under his watchful four eyes.  Now, they're flailing like the rest of the fast food giants, not only with their completely forgettable marketing campaigns, but also with their "throw a bunch of shit at the wall and hope something sticks" method of introducing new dishes.  Their latest attempt—a spicy chicken sandwich topped with pepper jack, bacon, and "natural" guacamole—was the first one in a long time to grab my attention, primarily because of the word "natural."  I'm assuming that they couldn't legally use the term "fresh" and figured "natural" would convey the same idea, but when I looked under the hood, the guacamole's neon-green hue reminded me of Ecto-cooler, and it had the telltale tang of something mass produced and infused with whatever acidic chemical is used to prevent it from turning greyish-brown.  Guacamole notwithstanding, I still ate the whole damn thing in five seconds, and the reasoning is simple.  The spicy chicken breast is one of the greatest and best tasting innovations in fast food, and the toppings are no match for its bold flavor, so the only thing you really taste besides the chicken is regret.  Try it if you must (Serious Eats and DidjaEat? both liked it), but my recommendation is to stick with the standard.  Buen provecho.