Vol. 37: Taco Bell's XXL Nachos

According to the file date on this picture I took, I ate these, like, almost two weeks ago.  And haven’t written about them yet.  Yeah, I’m slacking, especially since I’ve made another two posts since then.  Life happens and/or I’m a slacker.

So I’ve seen them several times on the windows of Taco Bell as I drove by, and told myself, “Self!  That’s creative photography.  The XXL Nachos aren’t going to be that big.  Just a fancy version of a Nachos BellGrande.”  That’s what I said, at least, until I got the order and they had to bust out a special bag and hold it sideways to get it through the tiny drive through window.  Observe:

 XXL Nacho Glory

There’s no camera tricks in that shot.  My pinky is actually touching the plastic base.  These things are friggin’ huge quite large by fast food portion standards.   I’d bet two “normal people” could share an order and be quite happy with the results, and there’s no shortage of cheese, both nacho and shredded. 

Just make sure you wash your hands, first.  Or be a preppy wuss and use a fork. 

I know you’re probably expecting some enlightening and witty commentary on how good they are.  Well, for Taco Bell, they’re pretty danged good.  The fact that there’s over a pound on that tray lends itself absolutely no bias to my gluttonous opinion.  The truth of the matter is, it’s standard chips, TB guac, sour cream, TB “beef” (or steak or chicken, depending on which one you order), sour cream, refried beans, nacho cheese sauce, the cheddar/jack shredded blend, and some fancy-lookin’ pico de gallo. 

If you didn’t like Taco Bell beforehand, this isn’t going to be some manna-from-heaven specially blended mixture that’ll convert you into a tacobellian.  (For that, go to Salsarita’s.)  On the other hand, if you are already a semi-regular partaker of the Fourthmeal, and like nachos, then this needs to be on your to-try list.  Eat all the goodies.  All of them.  THINK OUTSIDE THE BUN.  And all that noise.

Key differences between the XXL Nachos and the BellGrande:

1.)  Guac and pico come STANDAD on the XXL.  (Shout-out to CrandyBole for pointing out the typo.  -Ed.)

2.)  There’s like, a pantload more in the XXL.

3.)  They’re called “XXL Nachos” in an attempt to make you feel fatter than saying BellGrande.*  Cuz, that’s like, two more extras than the Spanish word for “big” alone.  (Pfft.  Silly mortals, thinking that would dissuade me.)

4.)  The tomatoes aren’t spread around on the XXL, but rather clustered into a scoop of pico.  That doesn’t bother me, as it allows for more controlled mater distribution on a per-chip basis. 

5.)  NEITHER OF THEM HAVE GREEN ONIONS.  (wtf, TB?  Get with the game.  Bring them back!)

*this statement is not approved or endorsed by whatever Buttweasel Legalhonker at Taco Bell wants to sue me for making false claims.  Get a sense of humor.

And, for you skinny-no-appetite-having types out there, the XXL’s are $4.99 for an order.  Split it with a friend and it’s two fifty apiece.  Can’t beat that.  Those of you that can actually finish a Triple Baconator (fancy link) might want to get a MexiMelt to go with it.

The Verdict

4/5.  Pretty big and pretty good value for the money, considering the hefty amount of toppings piled on.  If they jack it up too much higher, though, it’ll fall to a 3.  Because, when all is said and done, it is still Taco Bell.  This does not mean that I have not eaten them several times already.

Broke Bloke Gourmet: Spicy Tuna Nachos

It’s about that time, folks… time for me to share a bit of the culinary MacGyver-ing that I’ve been up to in the last month week.  Actually, I made this a few nights ago, but just haven’t gotten around to posting it up.  Because I’m lazy like that. 

This last Friday night, I found myself hungry, with no real possibilities in sight.  The only things that were sticking out in my pantry as not moldy or expired “edible” were a can of tuna and half a bag of tortilla chips.  Thus was the birth of…

Spicy Tuna Nachos!!!

Don't knock them before you try them.  I don't post my failed experiments (like the gin martini with hot dog water instead of olive brine) here, unless it's pointed mockery.  So here’s the dealie-o.

 yeah, yeah, so nearly everything in the picture is from Wal*Fart, gimme a break

Step 1:  Artfully arrange your tortilla chips on a plate so that they’re not overlapping much, but close enough together so that no large white spaces are showing through.  This is best done with care, and not dumping them on a plate and shaking it.  Which works, but your nachos will just suck.

Dump a small apocalypse of cheese onto the chips, as illustrated above.

the cup was for the tuna water.  mmmmm.   tuna water

Step 2:  Drain the tuna into a cup.  I meant the tuna water, not the actual fish.  Drink said tuna water.  Engage in salty fishy yummy noises of delight that mimic porn stars clydesdales in heat.  Okay, I suppose that part is optional.

Anyway, once your tuna is good and properly drained, drop little bits here and there around your nachoey-ness.  In the picture above, I only used about 1/3 of a “normal”-sized can of tuna, so your mileage may vary on how many plates of Spicy Tuna Nachos of Amazingness you’ll get out of a single can.

 more cheese

Step 3:  MOAR CHEEZ!!!

Then pop the sumbiotch into the microwave and nuke it for approximately 30 seconds or until cheese is melted.  Radiation cookers differ by wattage, so take that into consideration with your zapping time by consulting the chart below:

Wattage              Cook Time

=====              =======

1200W              26 seconds

1100W              30 seconds

1000W              34 seconds

900W                1.2 hours

please consult manufacturer instructions

before following these cook times.

Step 4:  Now that the highly dangerous cooking phase is completed, you can apply an artistic drizzle of your roommate’s hot salsa over the top.  Make sure to follow the precise pattern outlined above exactly to ensure maximum flavor.  Failure to do so will result in your death by tonsil cancer.  Or something.

And, last but not least….. GO EAT THEM ALREADY!!!

Vol. 36: Pizza Hut's Overstuffed Supremo Pizza

So, for real, I’m not even gonna beat around the bush on this one.

This is, by far, the biggest disappointment Pizza Hut has crapped out launched in the past several years.  After launching and then almost immediately yanking the P’zolos from my market area?  Argh!!

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I love my Pizza Hut.  (See fancy link, here.)  And I’ll freely admit that has made me somewhat biased.  But this?  This isn’t a matter of opinion on pan vs. thin vs. original crust, or pepperoni vs. sausage (the correct answer is “sausage,” anyway), or any of the multitudes of other possibilities that can turn a pizza from “amazing” to a chewy case of toe jam “mediocre.”   

This is just bull honkey pathetic execution.  No two ways about it.  In fact, let me count the ways.

 The initial product shot

At first glance, this looks to be pretty good.  That’s part of the reason I got it in the first place, thinking to myself, “Hey, Self who should really eat a salad instead!  This looks like a gigantic P’zone!  That’s AWESOME!”  It smells good, too.  Don’t be fooled by it’s siren’s song of deceit.

 Further down the rabbit hole

Then you start eating it.  For the first several bites, you’ll try and convince yourself that, oh, I’m just at the beginning, it’s mostly crust because it’s that stuffed thing, and I’ll have to get to where the crust opens up to get to the goodies” – like this is a dollar Hot Pocket and not a $13+ pizza – except the crust never f%&$ing opens up.  Don’t believe me?  I ripped apart the slice out of sheer frustration to reveal the following male bovine fecal matter disappointment.

 WTF.  For real?  I wish there was a rabbit in here.

There’d be more meat.

Really.  Really??  THIS is what constitutes “overstuffed?”  This barely even qualifies as “stuffed.”  Unless you want to say it’s stuffed with more crust.  What.  The.  Hell.

The whole breadth of that slice, and there’s one squirt of sauce and an onion?  Oh, and one pepper over there somewhere?  Where’s the friggin’ beef?  Hell, where’s the friggin’ anything but crust?  This is the kind of stunt I’d expect Red Baron to pull.  Or Tony’s.  Or some other frozen pizza brand.  Not what I expect from Pizza Hut, and certainly not what I expect to spend more than I would on a regular large pizza on. 

Get your s#!% crap together, Hut Peeps.  This level of weaksauce is not very enamoring.  I’m not even finishing slice number two – and that’s not because I tore the other slices up looking for meat, or cheese, or hell, even sauce, anything but friggin’ crust. 

It’s because I don’t feel like eating an over-glorified breadstick.

Oh, and because I’m supposed to find something positive?  Here’s a positive.  It’s not greasy.  It’s not greasy because there’s nothing delicious to create grease in or on it.

The Verdict

2/5.  This only gets a two because, if it was lying around and I was hungry, yes, I probably would eat it.  After doctoring it up and cussing whomever ordered it out for wasting their money.  Get a $10 large any way you want it and give the rest to the delivery guy if you want.

Vol. 34: Domino's New Pan Pizza

So I forgot to take a lunch to work the other day.  And, naturally, I was starving within minutes of arrival.  This is nothing new.  Not being entirely sure of what I wanted to eat, however, is somewhat new.  Ish.

After perusing a number of online menus, I stumbled across an advertisement for Domino’s new Pan Pizza.  Crustless, with two layers of cheese and toppings all the way to the edge.  It aroused me piqued my interest.  And yes, I’ve been informed this has been advertised on television for weeks.  I don’t have TV, so I didn’t know.  Don’t judge me.  

The bottom line is I had completed the order for a $7.99 medium unicorn & rainbow sausage and mushroom pie before I realized I had even picked my toppings.  There was a minor incident where I nearly peeled a coworker’s face off with my teeth out of hunger because it took almost an hour to arrive - although, in Domino’s defense, it did say that it would take 56-66 minutes on the order confirmation - but that particular crisis was averted through the judicious application of Nutty Bars to my face.

And then, it had arrived, and there was much lewd pelvic thrusting rejoicing.  Or both.

On the box, I couldn’t help but notice the following:

At first glance, this box topper may illustrate why it took a sodding hour to get my grub, and appear to be nothing more than soliciting employees from their established customer base.  Fine, right?  Except the last bullet point, where it says “Hustling is a must.”

Really, Domino’s?  I’m all down for making your paper however you can and getting ahead of The Man, but I’d feel kind of awkward if Huggy Bear delivered my pizza.  I’m just sayin’.  Especially when it is immediately followed with “Domino’s Pizza is a drug free environment.”  Trying to find a drug-free hustla?  Next they’ll want an honest politician.  (Zing!)

Inside the actual box

Upon returning to my desk, I opened the box and molested inhaled a slice before realizing what had happened.  This is evidenced in the above picture, which shows that they weren’t kidding - there’s plenty of crispy burnt cheese on the edges (which is, like, foodie porn) and it has a nice balance of toppings and cheese distribution.  Oh, and sauce.  Yeah, that stuff.  The red stuff that makes it easier to swallow.  

As for the dough, I was pleasantly surprised.  This pan pizza could seriously give the legendary Pizza Hut pan pizza a run for the money.  Not only is it nicely flavored and textured, but the bottom retains its crispy texture without swimming in grease like its obvious competitor’s.  Not that the box-soaking grease levels are a bad thing.  It’s like grub lube.  But after eight or nine slices, it tends to get a bit much.  Which is why I’m giving the crust points to Domino’s.  Shockingly.

Also, Domino’s has better mushrooms than Pizza Hut.  The rest of the toppings, however, are individually up for debate.  As is the cheese.  And sauce.  In short, they’ve raised the bar up to meet and/or exceed the expectations set by the arguably best chain pan pizza around.  As for Papa John’s joke of a pan pizza?  It can’t hold a candle.


The Verdict
4/5.  At the price it is, it’s a steal.  However, that’s probably just an introductory promo price, which will go up later.  With that in mind, I’m classifying this a four.  I can’t in good faith say that I’d pay more than Pizza Hut’s offerings for a similar pizza.  Pizza Hut better take notice of this one, though.