Vol. 13: Burger King’s Fire-Grilled Ribs

[The use of “fire-grilled” as an adjective in the previous installment of the Junk Food Junkie is purely coincidence.  Honest.  Unlike the consecutive burrito installments, which was admittedly a temporary obsession.  Plus, lobster from Red Lobster makes sense.  This was purely junk-food scientific curiosity.  –Ed.]

I recall, one evening, sitting in front of the television, when a commercial came on for Ribs at BK.  My first reaction was gag, followed immediately by a subconscious dread, knowing that at least one coworker was going to ask me how they were.  At which point, I felt some equally-nauseating swelling of pride in that my opinions matter and all that crap. 

I was nervous, ordering the ribs.  I even felt like I was saying a bad word in church as I did so, noting as I did how overpriced they are.  (At the BK I went to, a 3-piece “add-on” was $1.99, or the 8-piece “meal” was $7.29.)  Considering how tiny these are, the price is a big kick in the chops deterrent for repeated orderings.  Observe:

Yes, there are allegedly 8 ribs in that box.

I realize it is difficult to get a sense of how big they are from the crappy picture quality, but use the sauce pack as a frame of reference.  These “ribs” are roughly the size of average chicken wings, but seem to contain less meat.  The barbecue sauce is BK’s standard nothing-special-here barbecue sauce, and in all honesty, seems to detract from the flavor.

The advertised “fall-off-the-bone” quality was mostly absent from my test population, as only two of said ribs could actually be classified as that level of tenderness.  They weren’t overly juicy, per se, but they also weren’t overcooked to death like you’d expect from BK dry by any definition, either.  They had a good smoky pork flavor, which had that implacable hint of “artificial flavor” to it.  But, those bones are definitely bones, so I blame their basting agent, and not the manufacturing or preparation. 

All in all, I suppose if you’re in a die-hard funk and need ribs to heal you, they’ll serve their purpose.  Otherwise, I have a feeling these will fall by the wayside very shortly, purely for cost vs. product ratings, as I’m sure most people won’t continue to pay for what they get.

The Verdict

2/5.  They don’t suck, which is almost shocking.  But the uber-steep price point will prevent me from ordering them again unless I have a coupon.  Or someone else is paying. 

Vol. 12: Red Lobster's Wood-Fire Grilled Shrimp and Lobster Tails

I have long been a fan of the shrimp season specials at Red Lobster.  All-you-can-eat shrimp and Cheddar Bay biscuits for a not-so unreasonable price just begs one to gorge themselves sick like a crazed hobo forego all pretense at civility and eat with abanbon.  The last time I was at Red Lobster, however, it was during Lobsterfest.  Bastards.  They don't have the shrimp specials then.  And not being one who has ever been ga-ga over lobster -- it's just aight -- I grudgingly opened the menu.

Okay, so I didn’t snap a picture of mine.  Here are some “official” ones from RL’s website.

None of the specials really caught my attention, except one:  it contained an order of shrimp scampi (my favorite of all time, +1,000 points), a skewer of wood-fire grilled shrimp (never had it, but it's still shrimp, +800 points), two wood-fire grilled lobster tails (meh, aight, +350 points), and a side of rice pilaf (RL's pilaf blows goats is sub-par, -150 points).  Even with the pilaf (which remained untouched), the special won the decision process by a narrow margin of 50 points over the shrimp trio (scampi, butterflied & fried, and shrimp Alfredo; excellent, but the pasta sits like a lead brick in your stomach).  So I placed my order and waited patently with my biscuits and salad.

The dish arrived shortly thereafter, the smell making me drool (okay, it was the anticipation of scampi, sue me), which I tried in vain to wipe with a napkin.  The first thing I did was try one of the wood-fire grilled shrimp - which, I'm fairly certain, I soiled my pants with how good they are.  They were perfectly cooked, tender and juicy, with a slight smokiness which did not overpower the flavor in any way, shape or form.  After the success with the shrimp, I tried the lobster - and I kid you not when I say it was the $hit of all sea-$hits best lobster I've ever had, hands-down.  I literally groaned after chewing.  I almost felt sorry for the scampi, since they - as much as they were my favorite of all time, before - simply paled in comparison.  Needless to say, everything on my plate was devoured (except the pilaf), and I had no leftovers at all, which is a Red Lobster first for me.

In other words, wait 'til payday and go get some!

The Verdict

5/5.  Pardon me, but I must go and change my pants.

Vol. 8.5: Chipotle Mexican Grill Chicken Soft Tacos

During my first review of the recently-opened Chipotle Mexican Grill restaurant, I acknowledged that some of the problems encountered were due to the early rocks of opening day.  I also admitted that while each individual ingredient was good, as a whole, the burrito fell short of my expectations.

There were three of them at first, but I ate two before I remembered to snap a pic.

That was several weeks ago, and I'd since grown curious to know if dialing back the number of ingredients might make a dish work together better.  Most places who put together mega-uber-burritos successfully (Moe's, Salsaritas, etc.) put their primary seasoning on the protein of choice, and let the other prepared ingredients sing for themselves, to avoid become the colossal train wreck that was Chipotle's burrito.  Under that line of thinking, I tried their grilled chicken tacos, very simply:  chicken, pico de gallo, queso quesadilla, sour cream, and shredded Romaine.  Classic, fresh combo, and with the individual flavors fewer in number, much more in harmony.  This was a good meal, brightly flavored with just the right amount of heat, and certainly a needed star on Chipotle's hat. 

Just don't try to create a 'kitchen sink' burrito there.

The Revisit Verdict

4/5.  Good, simple, fresh-tasting tacos which helped redeem the cilantro-mosh-pit which was the burrito, earning Chipotle a tentative spot on the lunch roster.

Vol. 11: KFC's Double Down "Sandwich"

Being a part of numerous market research panels often yields surprising benefits, such as learning about new products well before they actually come out.  Sadly, sometimes they never do.  So when I was part of a panel with KFC doing research on whether or not a chicken "sandwich" where two fried chicken breasts serve as the bun, stuffed with two slices of bacon and two slices of cheese and a chipotle Ranch sauce, I responded with a resounding holy hell give me one now 'this is an awesome idea.'

Observe!  (Mine is on the left, the official shot is on the right.)

When KFC launched their new boneless breast fillet, which was a grand step up from their chicken strips, the thought crossed my mind that these might become the "buns" for their new "chicken sandwich."  And I began drooling in anticipation even further.

And then, it launches, under the moniker "Double Down."  It should, in all honesty, be called "double up your cholesterol."  As if that would deter me (can we say Triple Baconator, anyone?) in any way, shape, or form.  Quite the contrary, any sandwich that screams MASSIVE INCOMING CORONARY practically rolls out a welcoming mat for me.

In short, this sandwich is messy as hell.  Again, not a deterrent, unless I'm trying to drive (I do NOT recommend consuming this while driving!), but one cannot perform cannibalistic molestations properly give this sandwich the respect it deserves unless seated, anyway.  I opened the box and lifted this monstrosity out, trying desperately not to slobber on it (successfully) and dived face-first into it. 

Juicy, chickeny, spicy, melty, cheesy, and then crispy BACON!!  (At this point I started sounding like the Beggin' Strips dog for about 9.3 minutes. -Ed.)  Considering that bacon was not one of the primary ingredients at KFC, I was rather nervous at first, but it was thick-cut and crispy, without cause for a hint of worry.  Then, of course, because I'm a greedy junk food bastard I had to be thorough in the name of science, I had to take a bite of the grilled version, as well.  Don't get me wrong - one bite, these protein monsters are quite filling - but the grilled proved to be equally delicious.  The flavor profiles were different, of course;  I wouldn't call it less greasy, but with much more of a "backyard barbecue" feel to it than the Southern-fried decadence of the crispy one. 

As far as which is better?  That's going to be largely personal preference.  I was on the fence, they were both unhealthy and frakkin' droolworthy excellent in their own styles, and which I would pick in the future just depends on what mood I was in that day. 

In short:  seven trillion calories, a million grams of protein, 4,000g of saturated fat, and 0 carbs?  Atkin's would be proud.

The Verdict

4/5.  Ridiculously delicious, and expectably pricey considering the contents at $4.99 each, but worth it.  Getcha some!

Vol. 10: Burger King's Steakhouse XT Burger

I remember trying the original BK Steakhouse Angus burgers when they first came out, several years ago.  My opinion then was that they sucked @ss reminded me more of a frozen Banquet almost-meat-by-product patty than anything remotely considered delicious.  So when Burger King came out and launched this new line of "Extra Thick" (or XT) Steakhouse burgers, I couldn't give a $hit politely declined trying them on account of prior product experience. 

My sample was the “normal” burger, on the far right.

On the recommendation of a co-worker whose name is alarmingly similar to a famous - if arguably mental - movie star, I decided it had been a reasonable amount of time to give the product line another shot.  (See, that's called giving someone credit without calling them out.  Try it sometime, Mr. Limbaugh.)  So as I unwrap my burger, which is somewhat more smooshed than in the 'official' picture above (sorry, it was dark and I was hungry and driving, journalistic integrity was not on my mind).  Which isn't unusual, when does fast food EVER look like the picture?  Anyway, the smell was already a marked improvement - for a place advertising flame-broiled burgers, this was the first time I had ever gotten a burger which smelled like it.  The patty was thick and had 'barbecue crispies' on it, which just added to the flavor. 

The bun and rabbit food were typical Burger King quality, which is passable.  I got the regular burger, which was basically a Whopper with a patty that actually tasted good.  I'll certainly try the other varieties they have.  This burger could easily replace the Whopper as the chain's flagship burger, but that would cost money and make sense isn't in their prime product price point range. 

So if you happen to be at a BK and are unsure about which steam-tray-warmed burger to get, put this product line at the top of your list.  But better yet, go to Hardee's, because let's be honest:  you go to BK because it's conveniently located, cheap, or both, and not because you like meat steamed for so long after it was grilled that it has lost all flavor.  If you do, stop reading my column, you crazy bast@ard!

The Verdict

3/5.  Easily the best burger on the BK menu, but not quite good enough to make me want to go to BK.

Vol. 9: Michelina's Pasta Twists in Bolognese Sauce

Contrary to what some might think, I don't always eat lunch out.  I have, over the years, made myself quite familiar with the wide selection of 'budget' frozen meals, mostly because I'm frakkin' broke trying to maintain a diverse catalogue of the varieties of junk food available.

Over the years, Michelina's has been a staple of the cheap frozen lunch freezer.  Widely available, almost always a buck or less each, simple instructions, and reliable flavor are all good things when some foods from the ice chest makes one think Fluffy might be eating better than you tonight.  Plus, they have some of the best frozen mashed potatoes around. 

Observe its delicious boxy-ness!

Which brings me to this - a new flavor!  Well, new to me, and considering how poor thoroughly I've been researching the frozen aisles recently, that means 'launched in last week.'  (Ed. This flavor isn't even listed on the manufacturer's website yet, as of this writing.)  So I was excited to see something friggin' different their take on a favorite sauce. 

After following the provided instructions, I was all set to tear into this 8-oz. package of potential yumminess with abandon.  The first thing I noticed was.. Hey, that doesn't smell like Bolognese sauce!  Which, if yer a sauce, is, you know, kind of important.  You don't want your cheese sauce to smell like gravy, y'know?  But hey, I tell myself, for 88 cents, I'll give them a little artistic license.  The pasta twists - gemelli, for those pasta lovers out there - were rather gummy, which is somewhat unusual for Michelina's;  they're usually quite good about their al dente.  If that were the only issue, I could chalk it up to 'cheap frozen crap food' and be done with it.  But, as always, I'm not done yet..

The sauce, for me, killed this one.  If you're going to make it a point to brag about Bolognese sauce (rather than, say, call it 'pasta in tomato sauce' like their competitors), it should at least taste something like Bolognese.  Remotely.  As in, perhaps the same ball park.  Or ZIP code, for cryin' out loud.  This tasted like generic Marinara, thinned down, with mushrooms and red pepper flakes added.  What the firetruck?  If you bite into an apple and it tastes like pear, it screws with you.  Even if you know that it's a perfectly ripe pear you're tasting, you probably won't mess with it again because an apple is supposed to taste like apple!  This is not a difficult concept, but apparently it was for their test kitchen.  Perhaps if they had labeled it "Pasta Spirals In Zesty Mushroom Sauce," it would have worked.  As it is, it's just weird. 

The Verdict

2/5.  It was edible;  for those who don't know Bolognese, it might be good.  It's not making my grocery list, though.

Vol. 8: Chipotle Mexican Grill Grilled Chicken Burrito

Growing up in Southern California, I developed a love affair with really good, authentic Mexican food.  When I moved to Virginia Beach, it was pointedly brought to my attention that such food simply does not exist here.  Of course, I bitched complained about that in my last installment, so I'll keep that to a minimum. 

Chipotle Mexican Grill just opened near my place of work.  So, naturally, I tried it.  The burrito was nicely sized for the price - I'd guesstimate around a pound and a half - and comes with a bag of chips and salsa.  In a surprising twist, the chips really stole the show for me.  Perfectly crisp, dusted with Kosher salt and a hint of lime, they complemented the salsa beautifully and were awesome on their own.

The burrito, on the other hand, was somewhat dissapointing.  Nothing in it was bad, but nothing was stand-out awesome, either.  There was heavy use of cilantro in the salsa and rice, which by the end was the only thing I could taste.  In addition, the tortilla was a little gummy.  The end result of utter mediocrity is kind of surprising considering the restaurant's emphasis on fresh, organic ingredients.  Normally, I would chalk my dissapointment up to being inundated with Taco Bell grade-d crap food, but I've known this type of food for a long time, and enjoyed the same burrito at their competitors for a while, as well. 

When all is said and done, I'm going to have to give this separate verdicts.  Of course, the place just opened today, so I'll try them again in a month or so, but in the meantime I'll stick with Moe's or Salsarita's.

The Verdict

Chips & Salsa:  5/5.  These were slam-bangin' wickedness.

The Burrito:  2/5.  I'd eat it again, as long as someone else is paying.  For my dime, I'll go elsewhere.

Vol. 7: Moe's Southwestern Grill "Homewrecker" Burrito

I grew up in Southern California, near some of the greatest Mexican food short of actually crossing the border.  Since moving to Virginia Beach, good, authentic Mexican food has been tricky to find.  Don't even get me started on Taco Bell as "Mexican," and the prevalence of cookie-cutter Mexican restaurants doesn't cut it either.

Enter Moe's.  While 'authentic' is a gray area, this burrito certainly pisses on almost all the pussy wanna-be Mexican restaurants in the local area.  This thing is an unnaturally large WMD (that's Weapon of Munchie Devastation for you sods who just watch the news) that stands upright on it's own better than my year-old baby daughter can.  Which is a good thing, it turns out, because as your puny mouth attempts to perform seemingly X-rated acts just to get a bite, you unlock the fury that is almost two pounds of grilled melty cheesy guacamole-ricey yumminess, all of which is clamoring to climb onto your shirt if you try to set it down. 

That picture of it?  Yeah, the one where the burrito is wider than the cup?  That's half the burrito standing on it's own after it bitch-smacked politely informed me that my measly appetite was insufficient to tackle it.

Flavor-wise, it is immediately apparent that the guys at Moe's actually give a shit care about how their food tastes.  The ingredients were obviously fresh and the pico de gallo was bursting with juicy, cilantro-ey goodness.  The beans weren't overcooked, the guacamole had a nice flavor which held its own in the pit fight of ingredients, and the beast even comes with a healthy serving of chips and salsa, on the off chance you'll need it.

All in all, is it the be-all-end-all in the search for decent Mexican food on the East coast?  No, but it is a great value and delicious in its own right. 

The Verdict

4/5.  Great taste and value for the price as-is.

Vol. 6: Olive Garden's Stuffed Chicken Marsala

I've gone to Olive Garden for years now, though never as often as I'd like (hey, I don't get paid for this blog yet, you know).  I've never had anything really bad there, so I always feel free to try new things, unlike a few places I know which shall remain anonymous.

The Stuffed Chicken Marsala both sounded delicious and looked delicious on the menu.  A juicy chicken breast stuffed with cheeses and other goodies tossed in a creamy mushroom and Marsala wine sauce, served with their Tuscan mashed potatoes, also smothered in the sauce.. Yum!  With a little footnote saying this recipe was inspired by the gourmets at the Culinary Institute of Tuscany, hey, how could it go wrong?

All joking aside, the result is profoundly 'meh.'  The chicken itself, while indeed juicy, had no real flavor of its own.  The parts stuffed with cheeses had a different flavor, but in all honesty, the textural difference was unnervingly similar to chewing a big lump of chicken fat (the first bite almost made me gag before I realized it was cheese).  Even with that realization, the texture is still funny.  And textures play a larger role in enjoying food as a whole, even if you don’t realize it.. if you have a spoonful of pudding that tastes like a cheeseburger, it still won’t cure the urge for you to sink your teeth into a burger.  Plus, you’ll probably cringe at the combination in the first place.

The mushroom Marsala sauce is quite good, but the mashed potatoes seemed out of place.  Something about the dish begged for the chicken to be served on a bed of pasta, with the sauce running all through it.. While this may seem like largely an aesthetic complaint, the power of something feeling “out of place” has a big effect on a dish as a whole.  I like pickles, but I don't want any f*cking pickles on my spaghetti & meatballs, you know what I'm saying?  Of course, this isn't quite that drastic of a collision, but the potatoes does lend a hand to the whole dish feeling “off.”

At first I thought it was just my plate, that I'd gotten a bad apple, but another person in our party had the same dish, and the same resulting disappointment.  While nothing in this dish is actually bad, that also doesn't take away from the fact that there are no stellar qualities, either.  At the same token, just because a plain hot dog isn't bad doesn't make you actually want to eat it, either.  All in all, the fact that the best part of the meal was the breadstick dipped in Alfredo (now, that I would molest order again in a heartbeat) and the smell of the dish (which is amazingly better than the actual product) left me with a profoundly disappointed feel.

The Verdict

2/5.  I suppose if someone else paid for my lunch, I'd eat it.  Though you won't catch me ordering and paying for it again.

Vol. 5: Jason's Deli Pollo Mexicano Baked Potato

Sweet Jesus!!

That's the first thing I said when I laid eyes on this monstrosity of a baked potato.  Holy f*ck was the second thing I said.  Until you are in the physical presence of one of these mutant potatoes, you can't truly appreciate just how gargantuan they truly are.  The picture really doesn't do it justice, but the dinner fork next to it gives some frame of reference:

This thing is massive.  And it backs that machismo with a knockout flavor combo, too.  This is one of those potatoes that makes dieters scared to go down a dark alley and wet themselves at night.  'But it's just a baked potato,' I keep hearing.  Didn't you see that f*cker?  Buried somewhere under that half-inch of Cheddar cheese and slabs of sour cream is a whole chicken breast, cut into chunks and grilled with chile powder, cumin, and authentic pico de gallo (real cilantro, too!).  Shove THAT down your non-mutant healthy potatoes' throat and watch it explode!

I'm not going to lie.  You have to prepare to tackle this beast in one sitting.  The website brags about its serving size as 42 ounces.  Forty-two freakin' ounces!  For those readers that failed math, that's over two and a half pounds of cheese, potato, and chicken!  I failed the first attempt at eating it in one sitting miserably.  The second go, after letting my ego recover from the coronary, got me over halfway through, but the mutant beast of blessed artery-strangling glory remained triumphant. 

This gorgeous potato may kill me with it's siren's call of melty chickeny gooiness, but it will have been a fight worth losing.

The Verdict

5/5.  Not only is this potato spastically awesome, but the price point is ridiculously low for what you get, to boot.

Vol. 4: Hardee’s Portobello Mushroom Patty Melt

It's a good thing a coworker gave me a coupon to buy one get one free, because the second one might not be around in another two hours.  Bask in it’s deliciousness!

First things first, unlike a lot of places with "mushroom & Swiss" burgers (read: McDonalds), this one isn't just canned sliced mushrooms topped with Swiss cheese.  Not that the Mickey D's one is bad, but it just can't compete.  To begin with, these are real Portobello mushrooms (the taste is unmistakable to fellow fans of the fungus), cooked up with mild young, still-green onions (a much cheaper commercial substitution for shallots, which works nicely) in a creamy mushroom gravy with a nice herb blend.  A powerful flavor, but not one that overpowers the trademark Thickburger patty, and is accented nicely by the mild Swiss cheese.  Top it off with Hardee's subtle sourdough toast, and you've got a winning combination that better get added to the regular menu.  Otherwise, I'm off to hunt me a Hardee's exec.

The bad:  It's messy.  Well, to quote Hardee's sister chain in the West, Carl's Jr., "if it doesn't get all over the place, it doesn't belong in your face."  Just don't take the collar-wrapping off, and you should be fine.

The Verdict 

5/5.  I will most definitely be getting this again.  Perhaps tomorrow?

Vol. 3: Ruby Tuesday's Turkey Bacon Avocado Burger

Typically, I tend to lean towards the concept that health food simply sucks @ss doesn't have the power to keep up with unhealthy foods in the taste department.  This is not to say that all 'health' foods taste bad or don't have any taste, but in general, they can't keep up with their full-fat brethren.

Let's be honest.  Turkey bacon is not bacon.  Sure, it has its purpose.  Given a choice, though, I'm always going to pick the slab of fried swine.  Fat-free cheese and mayo are atrocities to mankind.  And wheat bread?  Not usually my favorite.  So when a buddy suggested I try this 'turkey bacon burger on wheat bread,' I was justifiably skeptical.

That having been said, this burger is a shining example that every rule has an exception.  This burger is illegal in three states frakkin' delicious, and the patty would be glorifiably inhalable even if it wasn't smothered in an ungodly layer of bacon (authentic oinking swine, my friend!) and avocado.  Okay, so it's no longer 'healthy,' bite me!  I am of the firm opinion that if nobody told you the patty was turkey, you'd probably be sitting pretty with juice running down your chin and a stupid grin plastered on your face, looking like a retard at Chuck E. Cheese's.  And that's a happy retard.  Observe its intellect-draining power!

Okay, so it’s a little smushed from my barbaric paws attacking it.  Sue me.

Of course, there is always something bad about every dish - in this case, it's me wondering how the f*ck I'm going to get to try the rest of the menu at Ruby's when this burger is so d@mned delicious.  Plus, it comes with endless crispy fries?  Man, that makes two bad things - because I don't have one in front of me to do naughty things with devour like a crazed homeless person. 

The Verdict

5/5.  I have already had two more since I started writing this blog entry.

Vol. 2: Tyson Chicken Salad Lunch Kit

Having a hectic schedule these days means a person will, invariably, resort at some point to convenience foods.  After this happens enough, one develops a pretty good idea of what to expect from a given product.  Things labeled 'lunch' should really be renamed 'snack,' 'low sodium' should say 'has no flavor,' et cetera.  So when I picked up the deceptively nicely packaged Tyson Chicken Salad Lunch Kit at 7-Eleven, the following thoughts ran through my mind:

1.)  It's Tyson, so at least the chicken won't suck.

2.)  It says 'lunch,' which means 'snack' and I need some chips.

3.)  Old hot dogs smell funny.

Granted, the last one was unrelated, but enough digressions.  I've had several of these kit snacks before, each with their own unique foibles to prevent them from kicking @ss.  Sometimes the tuna would be dry, or the mayo would taste off, or the crackers would be odd, but usually the end result is still largely enjoyable.  That having been said, let us begin discussing the nauseating train wreck that is this so-called 'kit.'

The first thing you notice after opening up the can of chicken is that, for the amount of broth in the can, the chicken itself is dry as $hit.  And I mean turd that's been in the sun so long it's turned white dry as $hit.  So after you've drained off the broth (into the conveniently provided bottom of the package), and managed to pry the 'chicken' out of it's can-shaped coffin with a pathetic attempt at a spoon (a flat piece of wood; other kits at least give you a baby plastic one), you are ready to embark on your creative salad-making adventure!

Your choices here are simple: a single packet of Hidden Valley mayo (seriously, guys.. Stick with Ranch.  I didn't even know that Hidden Valley made mayo until I saw this packet.  I think that's for good reason) and a tiny packet of generic sweet relish.  Whoo-ee!  The suspense is killing me!  At this point, after squeezing the 'desired amount' of condiments on your chicken, you realize that the can was of chunk chicken (in their defense, it does say that on the front in really tiny letters).  Chunk chicken does not shred easily, nor does it drain well, because of the amount of broth retained inside the freakin' chunk.  So after you manage to break the chunks down with your wobbly toothpick of a spoon, you will discover that your 'salad' is now a mayonnaise-flavored soupy mess with chopped pickle.  Yummy!

Which then makes you turn your attention to the crackers.  After all, you have to put this soupy crap salad on something, don't you?  Of course, what they failed to mention on the cover (which makes the crackers look deceptively like Ritz) is that these “things” they are referring to as “crackers” are actually defined as “disk-shaped single-layer cardboard by-product with wheat flavoring added.”  In other words, imagine a nice, tasty Wheat Thin or Whole Weat Ritz, or maybe one of those new Wheat Toll House crackers, place it on an old moving box, and then step on it.  Four or five times.  Take the resulting mess and re-form it into a cracker by magic, and that’s roughly the equivalent of what you end up with.

The result?  A soupy, half-@ssed “salad” which you can barely scrape out with the “spoon” onto “crackers” and then, under protest, shove into your maw.  Gag, choke, swallow, and then, for some ungodly reason, repeat five more times.  I, fan of canned meat and by-products of all sorts, did not finish it.  That should tell you something.

The Verdict

1/5.  The only way I’m going to eat this again is if someone pays me to.  Or if I’m starving to death and have no other options.

Vol. 1: Wendy's Triple Baconator

When I first heard the two words 'triple' and 'Baconator' used in the same sentence, I think I had a mild heart attack.  Upon my thankfully near-immediate recovery, I was instantly obsessed with the concept.  Within 24 hours, I found myself at the counter of my local Wendy's, uttering my almost sinful order to the cashier, pacing impatiently like a caged drug addict waiting for his fix.

Trying only marginally successfully to withhold my drool as I lunged towards a table, I unwrapped the behemoth of beef and paused for a moment to take in the spectacle.  I cannot stress how big this thing is.  3/4lb. of beef, six slices of thick-cut bacon, and three slices of cheese, all barely contained in a suicide bun slathered in ketchup and mayo.  Note the complete lack of pretense towards anything remotely healthy -- no rabbits will starve thanks to this burger.  Just writing about it makes my arteries jealous cringe in fear.  While it appears smooshed, rest assured that there is, in fact, six slices of bacon and three slices of cheese on this (the bottom slice of cheese was hanging off the other side of the burger):

After taking in the gargantuan sight of this thing beautiful sight, the first challenge becomes glaringly obvious: just how the f*ck are you going to get this in your mouth?  Of course, being the semi-civilized person that I am, I fully acknowledge that cutting it in half is for pansy boys.  (Hey, I did say "semi.")  After a moment's preparation unhinging my jaw, I dove in, nose first.

[at this point, notes cease and a large grease stain adorns the notebook.]

I think the burger gave me a permanent jaw injury, but freakin'-A it was worth it.  I ate the whole thing, and to make sure all that deliciously fried cow and pig and cheese wasn't lonely, washed it down with an avalanche of fries smothered in ketchup.  Oh, happy day!  I'm almost certain eating that burger reduced my lifespan by two weeks, but f*ck it, I was going to die anyway.

The Verdict

5/5.  I will definitely be getting this again, regardless of what that lousy Surgeon General says.

Introduction & The Rating System

Hello, and thanks for bothering to read this!  Enclosed is a collection of my random musings as the self-proclaimed Junk Food Junkie.  These are some of the things that I have eaten – specifically at fast-food or chain restaurants available at least regionally, if not nationwide and mass-marketed products – which I have felt some profound, indescribable need to share my thoughts on.  The product may have been phenominally delicious, utterly disgusting, or even something which had just fallen short of some high hopes.  All of which, of course, delivered with my trademarked skewed point of view, which some will might find offensive. 

Of course, I couldn’t care less than a flying monkey’s rectum about that.  I wouldn’t be me, otherwise.

The Rating System

Some might wonder how the rating system is based.  This is a simple numerical scale from 0 to 5 which can be instantly modified to any set of consumer product criteria as a direct assessment for subjective opinions. The system was developed by myself and some geeky friends back in high school (shameless plug for Etiwanda High, here).  Of course, your personal opinions will likely differ from mine, but you’re fully welcome to adapt The Verdicts with your own notes.  Just give us the props when you find yourself using this scaling method for other things.  As it relates to foodstuffs, here’s how it breaks down:

5:  I was so impressed with [product name here], and it was so delicious, I will 100% definitely get [product name here] again, and would probably pay a little more than what I did last time, just because it was that damned good.

4:  [Product name here] was so awesome, I’m certain to get it again, and it was a great value at the current price.  If it went too much higher, though, I might get something different.

3:  When all was said and done, [product name here] was good.  I’d probably get it again, but I’d be equally likely to try something else at the same place, as well.

2:  In all honesty, [product name here] wasn’t terrible, but I wouldn’t pay for it again.  If someone else bought it for me, though, I’d probably eat it.

1:  That [product name here] was so lousy, I wouldn’t eat it again even if someone else paid for it.  About the only time I’d eat this is if I had no other options, someone pays me a sizable sum of money, or was starving.

0:  [Product name here] was downright vile, disgusting, and inedible.  I think even a starving Ethiopian would turn [product name here] away.

Of course, this system can easily be adapted to any number of product lines with very little effort, and direct translations are immediately apparent.  So if a friend tells you, “oh, that dishwasher is a 2,” you automatically know that “he wouldn’t actually pay for it again, but if he got another one for free, he’d probably use it.”  See?  Geek power unite!

Now, on with the junk food!