Vol. 28: Pizza Hut's Garlic Bread Pizza

It wasn’t until I happened to log on to the Pizza Hut website, where I was graced with this glorious concept, that I realized I hadn’t done a single pizza since the creation of the Junk Food Junkie.

I suppose that’s mostly because the best pizzas are always local places, which don’t meat the “national or at least regionally available” criteria to be included on this blog.  But this idea was just too good to pass up.  Of course I ordered one immediately.  Duh?  Are you surprised?

 The official picture.

My actual pizza.  Shout-out to my trusty Taco Bell Sauce Packet

for size reference.

Garlic is the #1 Unmeat in my book.  I have been known to eat cloves of garlic whole, in raw, pickled, or roasted form.  And while I don’t have anything against pepperoni, with the exception of a Meat Lover’s from Pizza Hut zomg I must order a garlic bread meat lover’s tomorrow I tend to roll in the “sausage and mushroom” camp.

I would be lying if I claimed this was not exactly what I imagined it to be.  Crispy-yet-tender buttery slices of garlic bread smothered in cheese and sauce and meat and yum.  If you’re not drooling at this point, then you may need to check yourself into an insane asylum.  The smell alone is enough to replace Viagra for ED sufferers get people crawling out of the woodwork to make nice with you for a chance at the offer of a piece.   

Really, I don’t know what more can be said.  You know you love garlic bread.  You know you love pizza.  You know you want to do To Catch A Predator-type things to their hybrid love child.  Just try not to make noises which might be interpreted as “sexual” if you’re eating it at the office.

Your coworkers will look at you funny.

The Verdict

4/5.  Roughly about the size of a medium pan pizza in terms of volume, for the current price of $8.99 it’s perfect.  I’d probably have to hunker down for a coupon if it went up much more than that, though.  But it’s a much cheaper investment than an Inflate-A-Date, and more gratifying, too.  The moans will prove it. 

Sur La Table Cordierite Pizza Stone, 23 1/2" x 13 1/2" (Google Affiliate Ad)

Vol. 27: Banquet Rigatoni & Italian Sausage

So until I start getting some sick Google money for doing this blog, or some form of corporate sponsorship, or whatever, all the funding for things reviewed herein come out of my own pocket.

Unless I can scam someone into paying for me.

This means that, sadly, I do not get to consume the gloriously epic things like the Ruby Tuesday Bacon Avocado Turkey Burger every day.  (see archive, -Ed.)  And, let’s face it, low-end frozen food isn’t exactly stellar magic most of the time.  In fact, it’s pretty much crap about what you’d expect. 

Crap.

Yet, for some strange reason, I still get excited whenever I see a new “flavor” available in the dirt cheap economy frozen lines that grace many a broke budget-conscious employee’s freezer.  This happened recently, when I found this little gem hiding on a shelf at Wal*Mart:

Sadly, I didn’t even notice the bright yellow “New!” label until after I’d cooked it.  D’oh!

Immediately conjuring up visions of sugarplums good old-fashioned sliced Italian sausage and peppers over buttered bow-tie noodles, I started drooling and snatched it up straightaway.  Of course I tried it immediately.

The first thing you will say might remind you of an old Wendy’s advert.  In other words, “Where’s the beef?”  (Or in this case, sausage.  Whatever.  The sausage might have ground cow in it.  I don’t care enough to go look.)  After getting over the initial investigative shock to confirm that yes, in fact, there is meat in this flimsy plastic tray, and not just rigatoni and sauce, the second thing you’ll notice is that it smells exactly like every other Banquet that has their “marinara” sauce on it.  This list includes, but is not limited to, the following:

·         Spaghetti

·         Chicken Pasta Marinara

·         Lasagna with Meat Sauce

·         Macaroni & Beef

·         Spaghetti & Meatballs

·         Banquet Select Chicken Parmigian

·         Spaghetti with Popcorn Chicken

·         and MANY MORE!

Truth be told, the sauce is so bloody overpowering, it’s amazing that anyone can taste anything served with it.  Normally, this isn’t an issue, since it’s used sparingly in most dishes, but the rigatoni (with Italian sausage [?]) didn’t receive such consideration.  It was positively swimming in the sauce.  About the only way I was aware that I was actually consuming the Italian sausage [?] was the squeaky change in texture.  Could have told me it was just plain rigatoni and sauce and I wouldn’t have known the difference.

Is it bad?  No.  It’s certainly not a change of pace, either.  If you’re looking for something new, I’d recommend going with the Cheesy Rice & Beans with Chicken.  That’s like a Southwestern risotto and is actually pretty freakin’ good for a buck.

  

The Verdict

3/5.  I could see myself grabbing another one of these if the selection at Wal*Mart (or wherever) doesn’t have my normal grab-n-go stuff.  Odds are pretty even I’ll pick something else, though.. but I can’t give it a two of five since I could foresee myself (somewhat) willingly purchasing it again in the future.

Vol. 26: Wendy's Chili Cheese Fries

As recently as a few years ago, Wendy’s French fries tasted like licking cardboard monkey hair needed a good bit of improvement.  Thankfully, their corporate headquarters listened to consumer reviews such as this one*, and have launched several campaigns to improve the quality of their food, making them quite the the powerhouse in the mid-range burger competition.

They’ve also kept their promise to have forty zillion a wide variety of side dishes, ranging from chili to baked potatoes to blah blah blah, you know the story.

It was just terrible that none of these possible side dishes was truly fatal enough capable of standing up to the glory that is some of their creations, such as the Triple Baconator (see vol. 1, -Ed.) or the Octuple Stack**.  I mean, honestly – if I’m stuffing my face with a pound of cow and pig, do I really look like I want a baked potato with broccoli on the side or a light garden salad?

Then they came out with the Chili Cheese Fries.  Of course, I had to have them, even though I was more broke than Greece budgetarily challenged at the time.  Observe:

I couldn’t wait til after the picture to take a bite.  Sue me. 

Now I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, “Hmm, does Wendy’s chili really hold itself up as a French fry topping?”  The answer is yes, it does, now stop asking yourself rhetorical questions.  Observant readers might notice that there is actually a combination of cheese sauce and shredded cheese on top of the chili, which serves as a key point.

The cheese sauce acts as a thickener.  And mixed with the shredded cheese?  If you’re hungry enough, you might never notice that it was a sauce to begin with.  Oh, and did I mention they’re actually pretty danged tasty?  The fries stay surprisingly crisp for quite a while, a fork is a necessity, and the cheesy-chili-ey goopy mess left in the container is great to dip your burger into.

Because it wasn’t bad enough, already.  Oh, and because the obvious needs to be said sometimes – DO NOT EAT THESE WHILE DRIVING.  You have been warned.  I claim no liability.

You might need to come prepared for these guys, though.  Currently, it’s only $1.00 to upgrade your standard combo meal fries to Chili Cheese Fries, and I highly recommend doing so.  Keep in mind, though, that the serving size is 231g for these bad boys – they may not look like it, but that’s over half a pound of chili and cheese and fry.  Definitely a significant markup from the little cup of fries you were going to get.  For only a dollar more?  WTF are you waiting for?  Go get you some deliciousness!

P.S.  I highly recommend consumption with either the Double or Triple Baconator.  That way, you can get almost all of your 2,000 calorie daily input in a single sit-down.  Toss in a soda, and you can do so, easily!  That’ll free up the rest of your day for doing important things.  Like sleeping.

The Verdict

4/5.  As an upgrade to a combo, the added dollar is well spent.  On their own, I don’t know how much they are because I’m a slack@ss the price wasn’t added to the regular menu at the Wendy’s I went to, so I can’t readily award it a 5.  For a dollar extra on your combo, though?  Stop reading and go get some, already!

* My involvement in Wendy’s taste improvement campaign can be neither proven nor disproven.

** Some self-assembly required on this burger. 

Local Spotlight: Alannah’s Taqueria Super Burrito

So, technically, this isn’t an “official” Junk Food Junkie post, since it’s a locally owned restaurant that doesn’t meet the criteria for “regionally or nationally available.”  The beauty of 'teh interwebs' is that on this blog, I make the rules.  That also includes breaking the rules.  And this place is awesomesauce.  So go freakin’ bite me.

I’ve had their pulled pork burritos and tacos several times now, and each time I’m left with the feeling of happy belly nap time that they’re going to severely put a dent in the more “chain” burrito bar’s profits that are nearby (Moe’s, Salsarita’s, Qdoba, Chipotle). 

First off, just look at the size of this thing! 

You only wish your burrito was this big.

Yes, that is a penny on the foil for size comparison.  This has thrown down on the likes of the major burrito bars – of which I am quite fond of (see archive, -Ed.) and told them to go sit down in time out while it steals their women away in the night.  I kid you not, this thing has left the realm of “burrito sized” and has entered the realm of “forearm sized.”  Literally.  It probably weighs more than your forearm, too.  But stuffed in your belly, it’s so much more satisfying than a forearm.  No bones, either.

Of course, size isn’t everything, but it sure is helpful to be on the bigger end.  Snicker.  More important than sheer girth and length is the flavor, and there is nothing about this burrito that comes anywhere close to failing.  Being completely honest?  I ate plain tortilla.  Plain freakin’ tortilla.  And it was good.  I don’t know what kind of mystical Mexican magic they worked, here, but it’s amazing.  Oh, yeah, and it gets better – because there’s good $hit food inside the tortilla.

Hand-made real guacamole is the first thing I noticed, along with seasoned rice, delicious beans, fresh pico de gallo, perfectly seasoned pork and more, all put together with the masterful hand that knows better than to over-season any one ingredient (are you listening, Chipotle??).  In my expert lol and highly trained hands, I could tell this was somewhere in the realm of two and a half and seven thousand pounds of burrito perfection.

And I ate the whole thing.  In one sitting.  For the third time.  (Not in the same day.)

(Although I’d probably try, given the opportunity.)

So what if I looked nine months pregnant afterwards?  Most people didn’t notice.  I mean, I look eight months pregnant before lunch, anyway.

For those of you watching your weight (I watch mine too.. it climbs. –Ed.), this burrito could easily be divided into two “large” portions, or three “medium” portions, without skipping a beat.  Of course, I’m sure you’re also the people who think that renaming Lunchables as “Snackables” for false advertisement is a stupid idea, and the box of Kraft Dinner that says “serves 4-6” is actually “reasonable.”  Silly people.  And for the price?  You’d be daft to skip out without trying it.

Did I mention the unthinkably awesome fact that they deliver?  Yes, a taqueria that delivers.  In Chesapeake.  I’ve set up a charitable fund to help offset the cost of clothing my expanding waistline support spreading the Guacamole Gospel word while I greedily gobble these before the psycho [insert hated political party here] regime puts restrictions and warning labels on them. 

Oh, and their tacos and quesadillas are bangin’, too.  I’m thinking of getting their nachos, tomorrow.

Go do the Facebook thing with them at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Alannahs-Taqueria/127302720734019

The Verdict

5/5.  Burritos like this one at cookie cutter other local Mexican restaurants run you a whole lot more money, and are filled with a whole lot more suck less flavor.

Yes, I just censored my Verdict twice.  What?  Don’t judge me.

Photo credit to Deena C. since I didn’t stop to take a picture before inhalation.

Vol. 25: Friendly’s Ultimate Grilled Cheese BurgerMelt

I first saw the idea of someone making a cheeseburger with two grilled cheese sandwiches instead of buns on the Food Network at a place called Vortex Bar & Grill in Atlanta, GA.

Ever since then, I’ve been completely obsessed mesmerized by the idea.

By complete and total accident, I stumbled across the fact that a local ice cream shoppe that I’d normally never set foot in, seeing as how ice cream makes me projectile vomit like Poltergeist rather extremely nausesous, served up a similar burger.  Of course, within 24 hours, I was throwing my car in park and marching inside with a complete determination to seal my own cholesterol-laden demise.

Oh, who am I kidding, I ain’t dead YET.  The first volume of this blog was a danged Triple Baconator.  And I should have written this one up ages ago but I’ve been a slack mo fo.

 The official picture

My take-away one

Of course, I couldn’t leave a cheeseburger sandwiched between two buttery, crispy, grilled cheese sandwiches alone, oh no.  I had to add bacon.  The waffle fries came with it.  Bastards forgot my Ranch dressing.  Seriously?  It may be hard to tell thanks to the awkward angle I had to take the photo from, but it actually looks pretty damn close to the official picture in person.  Which is saying something.  Something good.  Just add bacon to the official picture.  Juicy, crispy, mouth-watering fried pig. 

Because there wasn’t enough animal fat in there to begin with.  Bleed on, arterial walls!  For tonight, we dine on Hellman’s!  Or some such inspirational $hit.

There are going to be two groups of people on this burger.  One group, the one in which I reside, will look at the above platter and hear the fact that there are 2,210 calories in there and start drooling.  The other half will vicariously have a heart attack.  That just means I’ll know who I can trust with my leftovers… oh, who am I kidding?  There won’t be any.

Several people who heard about my quest to conquer this behemoth were worried that there was going to be too much bread.  I listened to their fears, and ate it anyway.  Rest assured, there is no such thing as too much crispy butter-fried bread smothered in cheese and meat and bacon.  Oh, and rabbit food.  Every single greasy-lipped chomp was an orgasm in my mouth.. oh, how to describe the joygasmic explosion of flavors?  Other than being a vegan near-nightmare, it was the first mortal step to Burgervana.

They need to rename it The Jesus Wept Burger.  Because his tears were used in the casting of the Holy Griddle that this burger was cooked on.

The Verdict

5/5.  The burger and fries comes in at $8.79 at my location at the time of this posting.  Add bacon for a dollar.  Order online and you might score 25% off.  I’d drop ten or eleven bucks on this animal-laden, buttery bacony nectar of Adephagia*.

(*Google it.)

Vol. 24: Great Value Hot Dog Chili Sauce

If any of my readers are surprised by the fact that I actually like hot dogs, then they rode the short bus to school haven’t been paying very close attention to my near-blatant disregard for what I’m actually shoveling in my mouth. 

So when I was at the store and saw this can of what bore a striking resemblance to 7-Eleven’s faux-but-fantastic fake chili, it caught my eye:

 The fact it’s called a “chili sauce” should have been a giveaway.

The other thing that should have told me to leave it on the shelf was the price tag.  But, at $0.68 a can, why not give it a shot?  ..or at least that’s what my stomach said.  Of course, I hadn’t eaten in about 18 hours, which means I should have paid it about as much attention as I paid in traffic court to the serving size on the box of fish sticks.  (Blatant cross-blog plug, anyone?)

The first thing I noticed was that, while it sure looks like it’s got lots of crumbly ground beef in it, there’s a frightening lack of animals in the ingredients list.  As a matter of fact, the only animal product in it at all is “beef fat,” of which it states it contains less than 2% of.  Hunh. 

After that was the smell.  It sure didn’t smell like chili.  Actually, I’m not sure what I would say it smelled like.  If I had to pick?  I’d say it smelled like swamp crotch with a hint of cumin one of those fermented bean dishes from the Japanese restaurant.  But, for the sake of junk food science, I had to continue.

In the interest of saving my @ss from spam comments full disclosure, I wasn’t exactly using high-quality materials for this experiment.  Oscar Meyer Classic Franks (yeah, the ones made with pork, chicken, and turkey that taste alarmingly like bologna if you eat ‘em cold) and Mary Jane hot dog buns.  So this wasn’t exactly a Nathan’s contest.  Even still, I expect my fake chili sauce to taste something like chili.  I mean, hell, Fritos can do it, why can’t Wal*Mart?

Truth be told, it didn’t suck.  Much.  The texture was pretty much what you’d expect, except without any form of toothiness at all.  At least 7-Eleven’s fake chili has some textured soy protein granules that sort of replicate ground beef.  As for the flavor?  Pretty much what it smelled like.  If they had called it something more like “hot dog topping,” it might not have been so bad.  But they had to throw “chili” in there and create pre-conceived notions and expectations of what I’m going to shove in my gullet.  I’d have gotten more chili flavor by topping my hot dog with Chili Cheese Fritos. 

Actually, that sounds like a pretty freakin’ good idea.

If you’re into fermented crotch bean “toppings” on your hot dogs, it might be worth looking into.  However, if you’re like the rest of us, stick with something else.  Or maybe just mustard.

The Verdict

2/5.  I’d probably eat it again if I were put in a position to (i.e. friend’s barbecue and unwittingly served myself) or if I were hungry enough.  I’m not buying it again, though.  Matter of fact, I have an extra can.. anyone want to form a second opinion on my results..?

Vol. 23: Michelina’s Meatloaf (with Gravy & Mashed Potatoes)

I realize that this is the third (!!) [Ed. See Vol. 9, “Pasta Twists in Bolognese Sauce” and Vol. 15, “Chicken Pad Thai”]  installment of Michelina’s product in the Junk Food Junkie.  So far, the first two weren’t what most would call “positive.”   In fact, one might even think that, in spite of my continuous assertions that the majority of Michelina’s products are quite decent for less than a dollar apiece (and the fact I continue to buy them), the reviews would turn someone away from trying, or buying again, a Michelina’s product.

Don’t let that be the case.  Just don’t buy any of the flavors I review.  Then you’ll be fine.

Todays experiment in taste receptor confusion:

I would like to point out the word “Traditional” in the upper right. 

It’s one of the words circled in red.

Now, as does any Michelina’s product (and the majority of frozen goods), the picture lends a false sense of security by displaying the food on a plate, with garnishes, and all sorts of pretty lighting.  The scene was as expected when I opened the box after cooking it – and by that, I mean it looks nothing like the picture.  Big effing surprise there.  However, there was one unusual element that caught me off guard more than usual.. 

I’ve eaten Michelina’s for years.  I remember, for the longest time, the only difference between Salisbury Steak and Meatloaf was whether or not you got miniature chunks of “mushroom” and “onion” in your gravy.  Other than that, they were all-but identical.  This?  This smell that is making me crave a Bloody Mary tickling my nose-hairs is not that of a homestyle stick-to-your-ribs brown gravy.  At closer glance, and looking back at the box several times, it’s some sort of tomato-based gravy.  Yes, you read that correctly, dear reader, and probably said WTF are just as confused by the concept as I was peering down into that smothered patty of chopped cow.  Appalled and curious, I took a little taste of it, only to have my highly-trained scientific tongue confirm what my nose was already telling me:  “Brain, this, in fact, is not brown gravy.  It is, to my most educated guess, the test-tube love child of V8, Clamato, Campbell’s Tomato Soup, and a bowl of Manhattan clam chowder that hasn’t been clammed yet.” 

So I think to myself, well, perhaps this could work.  Though I’m a little offended at this “tomato gravy” being called “Traditional” – to me, meatloaf + tradition = KETCHUP – but perhaps it could serve the same fancified means.  Like if Wolfgang Puck made meatloaf and sold the recipe to the low-end frozen food manufacterers.  At least, that’s what I was telling myself in preparation.  The actual result was slightly more believable and infinitely more confusing.  Truth be told, I’m still not sure if I like it.  The best thing I can come up with to describe it is abnormal something akin to the hell? “fusion food that doesn’t quite taste right fuse completely.”  Sort of like Irish-Mexican cuisine.  I’m honestly not sure if it was good, but it did manage to escape a scathing review.  So, um, that’s a good one for Michelina’s track record?  I think?

Furthermore, I would like to point something out about the box.  It clearly says the main “flavor” of the contents of the box is “Meatloaf.”  Yet, underneath that, it says, “mashed potatoes & gravy, with meatloaf.”  As though the main entrée itself were simply an afterthought.  “Oh, silly me, let’s add some meatloaf to our meatloaf meal!  Tee-hee!”  Perhaps that’s just me being an over-observant anal b@stard excessively inquisitive consumer, but that does strike me as odd.  I understand that the package descriptors must outline what’s in the package, but saying “Meatloaf with meatloaf” seems to me as reduntant and retarded repetitive and lame as saying “Warning! These peanuts contain peanuts!”

I digress.

The Verdict

2.5/5.  Normally, I never give “halfsies” on a verdict, since it’s a simple YES or NO in this case to “would you buy it again?” that makes the grade.  Truth be told… even as I’m writing this.. I honestly don’t know.  I think I’d have to give it a 3 at this point in time just to try it out again for scientific purposes.

Vol. 22: Hardee’s Mushroom Swiss Turkey Burger

I’ve opened my arms wide to turkey burgers in recent years, especially after experiencing the epically-delicious Ruby Tuesday’s Turkey Bacon Avocado Burger (see JFJ volume 3).  So I have to admit that I was pretty excited when Hardee’s launched a line of turkey burgers.

I succumbed to the media frenzy, drooling over pictures of the burgers (seen below in the official pictures) and was fully expecting a decent-sized burger.  After all, Hardee’s usually doesn’t lie about their burger sizes (compare photos of the Monster Thickburger to the Double Cheeseburger and come back with any questions).  Though, while I was standing in line, eagerly awaiting to order, clutching my Droid to my chest with the Happy Star Rewards app waiting to display my coupon, I should have heeded the giant flashing red flag of suck subtle warning on the menu saying that each of the burgers was “Under 500 Calories!”

The Official Lineup

WTF is that?

After getting my alarmingly tiny bag,  I peered inside to make sure everything was inside:  Little Thickburger for my evening snack, check; fries, check; another Little Thickburger?  Irritated, I tore the bag open and showered everyone in orphan tears and fries took everything out and performed a more detailed inventory.  In front of me were two Little Thickburger-wrapped items.  I stopped myself before jumping the gun and raking the workers over the coals, instead opening each one – yes, one was a Little Thickburger – and the other was… my turkey burger?

“WTF?  That’s it?  Seriously?” were literally the first words out of my mouth.  Above you can see the “real” picture, where I’ve placed a Taco Bell sauce packet alongside for perspective (since they didn’t give me any ketchup, big ups to Taco Bell for extra-saucing me earlier).  Size notwithstanding, I dug in.  And promptly said WTF for a second time.

First off, nobody warned me that they were going to switch the buns with some dry imitation of a “delicious” wheat bun.  It was dry and tasted like fluffy cardboard, and the patty didn’t do much to help.  While not going the dry route so many turkey burgers fail on, it managed to stay juicy.  Like juicy nothingness of fail.  Jenni-O has frozen turkey burger patties which are better.  I know.  I’ve had them.  For those who aren’t used to turkey burgers, these patties suffer heavily from the “looks like I’m eating cooked brain matter” problem – the yummy-looking crust on the official picture above does NOT carryover into the real thing.  Don’t let this scare you off turkey burgers in general, they can be quite delicious, just not this one.

I will freely admit that I have only tried one of the three burgers, but I will also say that this one scarred me enough that I’m going to need tongue therapy not going to try any of the other two unless I have to.  It is fully possible that the mushroom-swiss combo collided with the honey wheat flooring material bun, and the other two may be fully tasty.  I’ll be open to alternate opinions on the other two of the lineup as things go on – I suppose I MAY be convinced to try one if I get enough rave reviews. 

I’m still sorely disappointed in Hardee’s, first off for the photographic burger deceit (really, guys?  Why?), and secondly for actually thinking this would pass as a decent alternative to their Thickburgers.  I’m just glad I got one to tide me over after this vile and nauseatingly creepy aftertaste gets washed out of my mouth by gallons of water.

The Verdict

1/5.  I suppose if I were starving, I’d choke one down.  Let’s put it this way:  I had to force myself to swallow the final bite, and it certainly wasn’t because the burger was too big. 

Vol. 21: Taco Bell's Pacific Shrimp Taco and/or Burrito

These came out once before, a few years back, as a "limited time" promotion.  I didn't try them then.  But, bolstered by Taco Bell's rather impressive performance (for Taco Bell) with their Cantina tacos in the not-too-distant past, I decided to try the Shrimp Taco.

  

As you can see, the official picture looks nothing like the final product.  Containing six "seasoned, marinated shrimp," - which are apparently all on one side of the taco in the official picture - the thing is barely filled.  As you can see, the shrimp are laughably small.  In addition to the shrimp, on the taco you have lettuce, pico de gallo, and a "creamy avocado Ranch sauce."  Quite frankly, all I tasted was lettuce and pico de gallo.  It took about three bites in before I thought to myself, "Oh, look, Self!  There's a hint of what might actually be shrimp here!"  As to what seasonings they were, who knows?  Plus, they were overcooked to death.  I think canned baby shrimp have a better tooth feel, and they feel something akin to wet maggots soggy cereal.

Then they have the nerve to be "diverse" by offering it in a burrito.  Which contains - guess what?  Six shrimp, lettuce, avocado ranch sauce, pico de gallo, and is wrapped in a - watch yourself, now - TORTILLA!  Gasp, I say!  So the only difference is the sodding price and that it's wrapped differently?  How is that clever marketing?  Is nobody else noticing this?  I would like at this point for you, the reader, to do a collective eye roll with me.  Ready?  3, 2, 1...

...

...Thank you for your participation.

When all is said and done, Taco Bell should stay away from seafood.  There's just something creepy about the entire concept.  They need to stick with what they do best, which is come up with creative new ways to mix together cheese, fake cheese sauce, something crunchy, and questionable (albeit mysteriously tasty) beef filling.

The Verdict

2/5.  I suppose I'd eat it if someone else paid for it.  And I was hungry.  But that's it.

Vol. 20: Boston Market's Loaded Mashed Potatoes

It may not seem like it from the items I've chosen to review thus far, but I love my chicken.  Fried chicken, grilled chicken, rotisserie chicken, you name it.  And almost never do the side dishes actually live past the poultry assault, unless, of course, there's simply a pantload of chicken to begin with. 

Then I met these little beauties.  Well, actually, the Boston Market website told me about them in one of those newfangled "e-mail" thingies.  Bragging about their new side dishes.  Now Boston Market's mashed potatoes and gravy are delicious in and of themselves, so when I heard that they mixed in cheddar cheese, bacon, sour cream, butter, and chives, I of course had to immediately inhale them with gluttonous abandon try them out for the sake of science.

Now you'll have to excuse my lack of "authentic" picture here, because I did naughty things to them and didn't want to leave photographic evidence ate them so quickly, I didn't get a chance to snap a picture.  So we'll have to deal with the corporate picture.  Or, better yet, you could go get your own.  And bring me some, too.

They're significantly thicker than the typical mashed potatoes they serve, which is to be expected because of all the dang goodies they managed to stuff inside what is typically a supporting actor role.  I took one bite of these delicious diet-wreckers, and I can honestly say I forgot there was rotisserie chicken on the plate between me and them.  They are phenomenal!  Imagine, if you will, the best parts of a loaded baked potato, or potato skin, or, heck with it, it's bacon and cheese and sour cream, what other inspiration do you need?  Held together with real mashed potatoes, not some reconstituted crap from powdered flakes with ingredients that only those with an IQ above 170 can pronounce. 

Now, it *is* Boston Market, so the sides are high end when compared to other fast food joints.  (i.e. KFC mashed potatoes, $1.69.  Desire to eat KFC mashed potatoes, 2/5.)  On the same token, though, keep in mind that you're actually eating real food, it tastes fantastic, and oh, that other thing?  Yeah, you'll actually want to eat these, rather than choke them down while crying tears of starving dolphins wondering if you've passed your sodium intake for the year.

Bottom line, in case you haven't gotten it, yet, is you need to try these.  Unless you don't eat bacon.  Then just have that part omitted.  They'll still amazing.

The Verdict

5/5.  The price is totally offset by the awesomeness.  I'd pay six bucks for a large side, easy.  Which is good, because they're not six bucks.

Vol. 19: Taco Bell's Cantina Tacos

As all you adoring and wonderful readers know, I love my Mexican food.  I also love Taco Bell.  I also have no illusions about the fact that Taco Bell is, by no sane comparison, anything even remotely close to Mexican food.  So, when Taco Bell launched their new line of 'Cantina Tacos,' I was understandably leery. 

They're an attempt to emulate 'Mexican street food,' as the corporate website claims, coming wrapped in aluminum foil with a lime wedge tucked inside.  There are three varieties: chicken, steak, and carnitas.  The chicken and steak (an attempt to replicate carne asada?) are the same stuff of regular Taco Bell fare.  The carnitas are what had me the most worried, in truth;  properly prepared carnitas take far longer to cook than I knew Taco Bell was willing to invest time in.  That having been said, I was still quite nervous when I finally got my order. 

Taco-ey Goodness

First off, don't be fooled by the "double tortilla" they come wrapped in.  They're very thin corn tortillas (the way they should be) and the second is only there because the first tortilla becomes hopelessly soggy and has next-to-no structural integrity.  Solution?  Wrap a second around it.

Back to the flavor:  In a rare instance of surprise, the carnitas (slow-roasted seasoned pulled pork, for those who are thinking "what the f*ck is that") is actually the winner amongst the three.  The chicken's seasoning doesn't blend well with the cilantro and onions on the taco, and ends up somewhat dry; but the juicy shredded pig has no such problem.  I was worried that Taco Bell was making a mistake trying something so ballsy time-consuming, but whatever nauseating trick shortcut they used was worth it.

As far as pricing goes, they're on the higher end of the taco pricing (for Taco Bell), but quite tasty.  They're less potent than the regular crunchy tacos in the "filling" department;  I had three and felt like I could down another two and still not feel like a bloated glutton be comfortable.  

All in all, I would definitely get them again.  Just with a side of nachos.  But definitely on the "must try" list.

The Verdict

4/5.  Surprisingly tasty, but needs a side to go with it.  Reasonably priced.

Vol. 18: Arby's Steakhouse Sub

I've seen the commercials for this sandwich for several weeks now, and every time I see it, I think to myself, "Self!  That looks delicious.  You need to try that for the Junk Food Junkie."  Well, the time has come for me to actually do that.  For those of you not in the know, it's a roughly 8" roll with their signature roast beef, fried onion straws, Swiss cheese, and a peppercorn Ranch sauce. 

The sub is listed as part of their current $5 Meal Deal menu, which means you get the token drink and curly fries with the meal.  (Arby's curly fries are the bomb, anyway.)  Upon returning to my desk, I tore into the sandwich (after taking the requisite picture) with abandon.

Or, at least, I tried to.  The first two bites were nothing but chewy as hell and largely flavorless ciabatta bread.  No meat, no cheese, no sauce even.  Yummy.  Great way to start off a sandwich.  Whatever.  After plowing my way through the introductory bites and actually scoring on the beef and stuff, I was blessed with a profound dance of pure meh on my taste buds.  Confused, I tried again, this time concentrating on finding some redeeming quality to this sandwich.  I did manage to come up with one:  It doesn't smell like duck farts.

Where do I begin?  The bread remained chewy enough to make me feel like I had a jaw workout throughout the half (!!) of the sandwich I could stomach eating.  The beef - their signature - of course was juicy and tasty, unfortunately, it was smothered under the blanket of suck lost in the hills of blandness that was everything else.  The peppercorn ranch sauce, in truth, should just be renamed "peppercorn sauce," as there was no discernible essence of Ranch flavor, whatsoever, and it served no purpose as a sandwich lubricant at all.  The Swiss was fast-food Swiss, so while that in and of itself didn't detract from the party, it did add to the dryness factor.  As for the onion straws?  In truth, I can't really badmouth comment on them too negatively, mostly because I could hardly even tell they were there.  Yes, I looked at them, saw them on the sandwich, but when it came to actual taste, they might have well been Onion Ninjas. 

On top of all the above trash-talking, the sandwich is salty enough that it puts Hungry Man frozen dinners to shame.  I looked it up online, only to discover (with utter horror) that the sandwich alone has over 1,900mg of Sodium.  WTF?   I'm not much in the way of a health nut - obviously - but even I take notice whenever it seems like you're eating a frikkin' salt lick on a bun as though every bite requires half a glass of water with it.

The Verdict

1/5.  I'll eat it if I'm starving to death, but I'll pass on this piece of sh*t train wreck even if you're buying.

Vol. 17: Hardee's Hand-Breaded Chicken Tenders

I love fried chicken.  There is no way around it.  Chicken tenders - while they have a tendency to not actually be tender - are one of the safe standbys almost anywhere one goes.  So why is it, then, that most places fail to have their versions of chicken tenders not suck live up to their full potential?

After succumbing to marketing techniques being intrigued by several commercials for their new 'hand-breaded, freshly prepared' chicken tenders, I found myself in the drive-thru of my local Hardee's.  The tenders were on the upper-end of reasonably priced - $3.29 for a three-piece or $4.99 for a five-piece - but, I thought to myself, Self!  If these are half the size they are on the commercial, and are half as good as they look and sound, go for it!  So I drove off with a 5-piece and some Creamy Buffalo sauce. 

Now for those that have not seen the commercials, these tenders are portrayed as fist-sized slabs of juicy chicken so crispy you can hear them being bitten into (it's less gross than it sounds, honest).  I couldn't help but think they screwed my order up on my way back - hefting the bag and all - and musing, "wow, this is kind of light for five slabs of fried chicken."  Well, it turns out, they got it right.  As you can see, these are nowhere near the advertised size;  not a wholly unsurprising find.  The flavor, however, was surprising.  They are just as juicy and tender as portrayed, and the Buffalo sauce is flavorful without being ridiculous (somewhere on the Mild side of between Mild and Medium).  I can honestly say they actually reminded me of good ol' homemade tenders - of course, mine are better, but I don't have to clean the kitchen at Hardee's.

The final verdict on this one requires a special consideration.  There is no such thing as a 4.5 on the BadgerScale, otherwise this would have scored it.  The clinching factor on why it didn't nail a five is based solely on the price.  To score a 5, I would have to be willing to pay a little more than I did already for the product;  which is every junk food's dream.  Normally, this question is very simple and requires little-to-no debate.  I can honestly say I have yet to come to a final decision on the matter, which, regrettably, means it does not.  But the flavor definitely scores a 5.

The Verdict

4/5.  Still sitting on the fence, but I can't call a 5 with a 2x4 in my butt without conviction.

Vol. 16: Chick-Fil-A's Spicy Chicken Sandwich

I must admit, after the last few product launches, I was afraid the cycle of suck mediocrity would never end.  Thankfully, Chick-Fil-A's spicy chicken sandwich finally arrived. 

A priveleged few of us were invited to sample the new zip-meister a few days before the product actually becomes available for regular sale.  I, being the daring connoisseur of junk food that I am, of course was part of this lucky population.  I gleefully turned in my reservation slip to the cashier, who asked if I wanted to add pepper Jack cheese to the sandwich - who was I to say no to that request?  So, of course I did.  This might not be a good idea for all friends of fried fast food, at least those who are not confident in their ability to handle spicy things.  You see, this is the first spicy chicken sandwich available from a chain restaurant which actually has some balls keeps up its end of the bargain for being classified as "spicy;" most places settle for a mild warmth.  Not this sandwich, no sirree Bob.  It's not suicide wing level, by any stretch of the imagination, but the average BK Spicy Chick'n'Crisp or Wendy's Spicy Homestyle Fillet consumer will definitely be caught with a (potentially) pleasant surprise.  This sandwich eats Spicy Chick'n'Crisps for breakfast and cr@ps them out with inferiority complexes. 

Placed on the Badger Heat Index, it lands acres above Taco Bell Mild Border Sauce, above Texas Pete and Louisiana Hot Sauces, and a little more research is needed to determine whether or not it is exactly on par or above Cholula.  It is still, like most consumable things, below Sriracha.  If you can hang with Hot level wings at most wing bars, you'll do just fine.  Medium wing eaters will need some iced tea, but should be able to manage without much difficulty with some waffle fries to break up the flow of oral chemical burns.  If you think the Wendy's Spicy Homestyle Fillet was at the upper-register of your heat tolerance, walk away slowly and do not make direct eye contact with it.

As far as everything else is concerned - it's a chicken sandwich from Chick-Fil-A.  Come on, people - you know they treated it right!  It just kind of sucks is disappointing you won't be able to get one on Sunday.

The Verdict

5/5.  Excellent!  Just don't eat two in a row.  Your cheeks will thank you later.  And not the ones on your face.

Vol. 15: Michelina's Chicken Pad Thai

Eastern cooking focuses on a dish by its balance of the five key flavors:  sour, hot, sweet, salty and bitter.  In my not-so-humble opinion, properly prepared pad thai (loosely translated to "stir fried noodles") is the perfect embodiment of the deliciousness of this philosophy:  a slightly spicy sauce with a hint of sweetness, a touch of bitter from the sliced green onions, a dash of salty from the crumbled peanuts sprinkled on top, and a squeeze of sour from the lime wedges it is served with.  The result?  Downright amazing.  And then, there's this:

As I stated in a previous edition of the JFJ (Volume 9: Michelina's Pasta Twists in Bolognese Sauce, -Ed.), Michelina's frozen lunches are a staple in my, er, ice-pantry.  As a pad thai lover on a budget, I was hoping desperately for a reasonable imitation for $0.88 each serving.

Alas, I was horribly disappointed.  The official product description was "Thai-style sauce and pasta with white chicken, broccoli, carrots & bell peppers."  Truth be told, this should really have been described as "retardedly short linguine in a failed attempt at overly-sweet sweet-and-sour sauce with red pepper added, a creepy attempt at mixed vegetables, and soggy steam-bathed peanuts."  In all honesty, I can never remember having broccoli served in my pad thai.  Thin slices of stir-fried bell pepper and carrot which are still crunchy?  Yes.  Overcooked, mushy vegetables with barely any of the original flavor and an unnatural texture?  No.

The chicken, which any purveyor of Michelina's is aware, is generic formed chicken (stock added), so no surprise there.  I did not, however, expect to see steamed peanuts in my dish, and they, quite frankly, sucked monkey balls served only to dampen the nauseating experience even further. 

To put it in terms of the online blogging community, this qualifies as an epic fail.  After two bites and nearly gagging on the cloying sweetness and texture which reminded me of a corn chip soaked in milk for an hour, I settled for picking the chicken chunks out of it and throwing the rest in the damn garbage.  Get it together, Michelina's!

The Verdict

1/5.  Hale, naw!  I better be starving to death, or someone better be handing me a hundred-dollar bill before I put that in my mouth again voluntarily.  

Vol. 14: Popeye’s Wicked Chicken

I must confess something, here.  I’m a junk food junkie.  That much is obvious, already.  But when it comes to junk food, fried chicken is the king of all kings.  And Popeye’s chicken is the emperor of all fried chicken kings.  Adam Sandler got it right in Little Nicky:  “Popeye’s chicken is the shiznet!”  Or, Chris Tucker in Rush Hour 2:  “I don’t like my chickens live!  I like them dead and deep-fried.  You ever hearda Popeye’s?”  There have been several other Hollywood references to Popeye’s, but I digress.

So, thanks to the marketing media mogul that is Facebook, I find out about Popeye’s launching their new product, called “Wicked Chicken,” I immediately plotted a visit.  Actually, within three hours of seeing the ad, I succumbed to marketing coercion, and was actually at a physical Popeye’s location placing my order. 

It seems that Wicked Chicken has ED..

I truly hate to say this, but.. had these strips (you can see, compared to the Cajun fries in the box, they’re very tiny and thin) come from any other competitor, they might not be graded the same way.  The problem herein lies that Popeye’s has kicked so much @ss set the bar so bloody high, that anything even remotely passable falls into the realm of “suck.” 

They’re pretty cheap, currently going for “an order” (read:  7-9 “strip pieces”) of Wicked Chicken, bag of Cajun fries, and a biscuit for $3.99.  The advertisement says it also comes with a miniature bottle of Tabasco sauce, but seeing as how I was there three hours after the product launched, the restaurant I was at didn’t have the Tabasco yet.  [Considering I can’t stand Tabasco, I wondered why I was mildly disappointed at this fact.  –Ed.]  The chicken itself was largely dry, the only real “flavor” it had was the signature Popeye’s batter (which is, admittedly, tasty), and extremely chewy.  From a frozen dinner, these would be reasonable, but from Popeye’s?  Get it the heck together, guys!  The sides included with the combo, I cannot justify as an inclusion in a review of the Wicked Chicken itself.  For my $3.99, I’d rather get a two piece and a biscuit.

The Verdict

2/5.  It pains me to say it, but Popeye’s launched a dud.