REVIEW: Wendy’s Canned Chili

Fast food sneaks into the grocery store with varying degrees of success. Taco Bell’s range of products, from shells to sauces, are mostly fine. Arby’s frozen curly fries? Awful. In olden times, before I got sober, it was pretty hard to beat White Castle’s frozen cheeseburgers after a night spent over-imbibing. (The real thing would be the preferable choice, obviously, but we haven’t had them in my market for a couple of decades now.)

I’ve never been a regular consumer of Wendy’s chili. I’ve had it a few times on top of a potato, sure, but it’s never anything I’ve specifically set out to consume. But now that it’s available in canned form, I felt like I needed to have both. And that I should taste them side-by-side. Blindfolded, in fact, to see if I could tell which was which.

Is a blindfolded taste test a little elaborate for a can of chili? No. No, it’s not.

The first one I tried was thick and meaty. There were plenty of beans and a moderate amount of seasoning. It was salty, but not unbearably so. There were no discernible chunks of tomato, but the base was plenty tomato-y with a slight tang. If you’re into heat, this one won’t do much for you; I’ve received kisses from my grandmother that were spicier than this.

The next chili was much thinner than the first. Soupy, even. The meat chunks were few and far between. There were large, acidic pieces of stewed tomato. The base was sweet with just a little hint of heat. Despite nearly everything else being entirely different, the beans were identical to the beans in the first bowl.

So, two very different chilis allow me to say this: if you dislike Wendy’s chili, you might still like the canned version. Conversely, if you love Wendy’s version, don’t necessarily expect to love the canned variety, too. You might, you might not.

But the moment you’re all waiting for — which chili was which? The first chili — the meaty, seasoned one that I enjoyed quite a bit — was the canned version. The runny bland one was the ACTUAL Wendy’s chili.

Is this a shocking revelation? Perhaps not. Handmade chili from a human Wendy’s person is liable to vary in quality; AI chili made by a robot and canned by a machine is bound to be more formulaically standard. But this isn’t a bad thing. I’d definitely buy the canned chili again, but the other one? I feel no such compulsion.

Purchased Price: $4.42
Size: 15 oz can
Rating: 7 out of 10
Nutrition Facts: (per 1 cup) 280 calories, 12 grams of fat, 5 grams of saturated fat, 0.5 grams of trans fat, 65 milligrams of cholesterol, 1040 milligrams of sodium, 26 grams of carbohydrates, 7 grams of fiber, 6 grams of sugar (2 grams of added sugar), and 17 grams of protein.

REVIEW: Armour Syrup Flavored Vienna Sausage

Armour Syrup Flavored Vienna Sausage

There are certain cravings that make sense.

I want an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Watching Chris Davis go yard at the Yard, I feel a sudden urge for peanuts and Cracker Jack.

Other cravings are a little more “out there,” but understandable given extenuating circumstances. It’s what excuses adding pork rinds to your milkshake after a night at the bar, or what allows pregnant women to justify eating Pillsbury brownie mix right out of the bowl. Some cravings, though, just make no sense whatsoever.

Take me and canned meat. Growing up with a bountiful supply of, well, your typical American upper-middle class food, I always had the blessing of fresh meat to eat during my formative gastronomic years. Likewise, in college, I enjoyed an all-you-can-eat dining hall which, despite being a young man with a plan, did not leave me with a necessary reliance on any sort of can. And having never lived through a natural disaster, been subjected to a dinner party at a Doomsday Prepper’s home, nor decided to engage in any kind of cross-oceanic voyage that would make canned food a necessity, you might surmise that I should have no attraction to the canned meat aisle to begin with.

You, my friend, would be wrong.

Quite the opposite, really. My fixation on canned meats knows no limits, which is probably why the 53 cent can of the new Armour Syrup Flavored Vienna Sausage captured my imagination.

First, a word on perspective. My romanticized version of canned meat aside, I’m still a realist when it comes to these kinds of products. At less than a pack of the really cheap gum (you know, the one with the multicolored striped zebra), I realize I’m getting something which probably has no taste whatsoever of the chicken, beef, and pork which I’m told make up each sausage. By the same token, I can dull my expectations of full bodied maple flavor when it comes to “syrup type sauce.” Just a quick recap of the hierarchy of syrup and such:

1) Maple Syrup

2) Pancake Syrup

3) Syrup-Type Sauce

Clearly we fall below the gourmet line. Actually, we even fall below the school cafeteria line, but who’s judging? Well, besides me. Now, about this aroma. There really is no experience short of a career as a dump truck driver that will prepare you for the initial waft of a freshly opened can. “Fresh” is the operative word here.

Overall, the smell strikes boldly of truck stop leftovers. Not just your generic Route 66 truck-stop leftovers, mind you. I’m talking Western Pennsylvania scrapple drowned in a weak corn syrup liquid which proudly claims a hue bordering on Diesel brownish-yellow and “if your pee is this color, please consult a doctor immediately.” Yeah, that kind of leftovers.

If you’ve never had a Vienna sausage, the best way I can describe it is like a cheap hot dog, only the size of your thumb. It’s a bit slimy on the outside, with an initial rubbery bite and a bit of pasty consistency on the finish. It doesn’t really taste like meat, but bad smell and all jokes aside, it’s not completely objectionable.

Armour Syrup Flavored Vienna Sausage Syrup Closeup

If you’re not averse to eating highly processed meats you might even find it “meh.” That said, you probably will need something to jazz it up. That’s where the “syrup type sauce” comes in. But who are we kidding? Calling this stuff a sauce is like calling watered down Pepsi a sauce. The consistency is that of water, with no body in texture and little, if any, flavor to the sweetness. It’s just kind of there, and what’s more, only has seeped into the sausages in moderate amounts. What it creates is a mildly sweet-salty combination, but only one on the atomic level. All things considered, it tastes exactly like you’d expect; a mini cheap hot dog with some sugar poured on it.

Armour Syrup Flavored Vienna Sausage Toothpick

While the epicurean toothpick method is highly preferred in most “snack from the can when nobody is looking” occasions, consider that the fine folks at Armour want you to remember that these are “Great with Breakfast!” To this end, I must admit, they are not.

Armour Syrup Flavored Vienna Sausage Waffle

And should you take it upon yourself to whip sliced pieces of Syrup flavored sausage into your favorite waffle batter, you will in fact yield an utterly insipid waffle with burnt pieces of said Vienna Sausage. Unless you prefer your waffles burnt on the outside, chewy on the inside, and just kinda weird tasting all over, I recommend passing on this cooking application of the product.

At 53 cents a can, Armour’s new Syrup Flavored Vienna Sausages might be the most economical way of getting your sweet and salty fix on this side of pouring a Splenda packet and salt packet in your mouth simultaneously. Nevertheless, the latest and greatest creation from Armour serves as a tried and true reminder that you get what you pay for.

I can forgive highly processed meat that doesn’t taste like meat. I mean, that’s what canned food is all about. But I was really expecting more from the syrup. to this end, I have to proclaim this bold innovation in canned food a failure. Oh well. I guess there’s always SPAM.

(Nutrition Facts – 3 sausages with syrup – 120 calories, 70 calories from fat, 8 grams of fat, 2.5 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 40 milligrams of cholesterol, 510 milligrams of sodium, 8 grams of carbohydrates, 7 grams of sugar, and 5 grams of protein.)

Item: Armour Syrup Flavored Vienna Sausage
Purchased Price: 53 cents
Size: 4.75 oz. can
Purchased at: Walmart
Rating: 3 out of 10
Pros: Not completely detestable. Extremely cheap. Has kind of the salty-sweet thing going on, albeit in a leftover truck-stop diner food kind of way.
Cons: But, why? Syrup looks like gasoline. Not desirable by any means. Syrup lacks body, depth, or noticeable flavor outside of high fructose corn syrup. Sausages taste like cheap hot dogs out of a can, which technically they are. Cravings that make no sense.

Libby’s Zesty Barbecue Vienna Sausage

I’ve always been told that one of the most important things one can do in life is make a good first impression. Unfortunately, I tend to ignore people I deem stupid so most advice goes way over my head. I once took a girl out on a first date and audibly complained that getting another slice of cheese on my burger costs an extra 30 cents. Later on, I mused about “really thinking about buying war bonds” and “striking it rich with Pog collecting.” After I finished explaining that “I’m not a stalker,” she seemed visibly disgusted.

Oh, the witty thought bubbles Blind Date would’ve put over our heads!

Alas, it was not meant to be.

But something I’ve learned from television is that no matter how badly you screw up, you can always dye your hair and move to a different state. This is why back in the 90’s I looked like an Asian Dennis Rodman. Not exactly a pretty sight, but that’s the sacrifice I had to make. All of that’s in the past and now I’m here with all you fine folks reviewing everything America has to offer: the good, the bad, and the Libby’s Zesty Barbecue Vienna Sausages.

Vienna sausages never made a good first impression with me. They were limp, soft, and devoid of any flavor except for perhaps urine and pig intestines. Looking like flaccid hot dogs didn’t help their case either. The fact that they even call it a Vienna sausage is obscene. It’s like inventing a “Luxembourg Sandwich” and making it with bologna and chicken gravy. Granted, that sounds absolutely delicious, but it doesn’t make it accurate.

Vienna is supposed to be a city rich with culture, history, and from what I gathered from the movie Hostel, hot and easy Euro chicks. These sausages have none of that.

Actually, I might be shortchanging them a bit — they might contain Euro chicks, since they’re already made with chicken, beef, and pork. Throw in some tuna and they could make a formidable basketball team down at the local YMCA.

Vienna sausages are life’s “fuck you” waiting in the cabinet when you’re hung over and depressed; heart welling with anguish after a long night of binge drinking because you’re wondering why Gordon Ramsey has to be so darn mean on Hell’s Kitchen. All you have left after that are these crimes against nature, which are mysteriously cheaper than cat food and come in disturbingly similar packaging. I’m not one to turn down a good can of Fancy Feast, but it’s not exactly something I’m proud of. There is a saving light, however! The sausages now come with a zesty barbecue sauce.

The makers of the sausage would like to believe that the addition of an awful sauce would make their product suitable for human consumption. My rebuttal would be a Lex Luthor-style WROOOONG!!!

Damn, where do I start?

The sausages have a distinct metallic aftertaste. I’m not sure if this is because they’ve been in a can since the first world war, but it is not exactly pleasing to the palette. The barbecue sauce is just regular Vienna sausage sauce mixed with some ketchup and brown sugar. It makes for a viscous disaster of a condiment. I tried them on a hot dog bun and barely got through two bites. I wouldn’t even feed it to my worst enemy, for I fear that upon consumption he would be stricken with so much rage that I would be immediately eviscerated.

Maybe it was stupidity or maybe it was morbid curiosity, but I was drawn to these things. For that, I am ashamed. I hope Libby’s enjoy their 48 cents, because it is safe to say that I will not be making this purchase again unless I am attempting suicide and need some extra incentive.

Item: Libby’s Zesty Barbecue Vienna Sausage
Price: 48 cents
Purchased at: Wal-Mart
Rating: 1 out of 5
Pros: Knowing that the production of this stuff at least gives people jobs.
Cons: Barbecue sauce on a god damn vienna sausage. Distinct metallic aftertaste. Complaining about the price of cheese on dates. Look like flaccid hot dogs. An Asian Dennis Rodman. Gordon Ramsey’s temper.

Del Monte Carb Clever Sliced Pears

Carb Clever Pears

(Dialing phone number on magic glowing red phone that’s on fire)

(Phone ringing)

HITLER: Guten Tag.

MARVO: Hey, Adolf, it’s Marvo.

HITLER: Ahhh, Marvo! How’s it hanging?

MARVO: Pretty good. So how’s Hell treating you?

HITLER: You know, there are good days and there are bad days, but mostly bad days. So what is up with this unexpected phone call?

MARVO: I was just wondering what the weather is like in Hell today.

HITLER: What’s the weather like in Hell? Is this some kind of sick joke, Marvo? You know I don’t like jokes, especially when I’m the butt of the joke. You don’t want to make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

MARVO: Um…I’m s-s-sorry.

HITLER: Ha! Just kidding. You’re so gullible, Marvo. Hey, did you notice I totally ripped off that last line from the Incredible Hulk?

MARVO: Uh, no.

HITLER: Anyway, the weather here in Hell? Let me look outside my window.

(Hitler looks outside of window)

HITLER: It’s hot, like it always is.

MARVO: So hell hasn’t frozen over?

HITLER: Pffff…Hell frozen over? Are you drunk right now?

MARVO: No.

HITLER: High?

MARVO: No.

HITLER: Why are you asking me such a silly question?

MARVO: Well you know this low-carb craze we have here?

HITLER: Oh, don’t remind me about low-carb foods. It’s one of the ways they torture us here in Hell. First, they torture us with flaming whips. Then our limbs get pulled off by four Hellbeasts. Then they give us a low-carb meal. Then they make us watch the Tony Danza Show without eyelids so we can’t close our eyes. Anyway, as you were saying…

MARVO: Well I’ve been eating all of these low-carb foods to review for the Impulsive Buy and all of them so far have been pretty crappy.

HITLER: So far?

MARVO: Yeah…I just tried these Del Monte Carb Clever Sliced Pears and they, surprisingly, turned out to be pretty good. They’re almost as good as any other regular can of sliced pears I’ve had.

HITLER: Get out of here!

MARVO: No, seriously. They were sweet and they were good, but I think the Splenda had something to do with its sweetness.

HITLER: You mean, Splenblah.

MARVO: Yes, Splenblah. So that’s why I wanted to know what the weather was like in Hell. I thought it froze over because the Carb Clever Sliced Pears were actually good.

HITLER: You know, “hell freezing over” is just a saying. You shouldn’t take it literally. If all these sayings were true, I would’ve broken my mother’s back hundreds of times for stepping on hundreds of cracks. Plus, I would probably have hairy palms.

MARVO: I didn’t have to hear that last example.

HITLER: Sorry. So these Carb Clever Sliced Pears are good?

MARVO: Yeah.

HITLER: Maybe I can convince Lucifer to add it to our low-carb meals.

MARVO: Hey, good luck with that.

HITLER: Anyway, so I’ll be seeing you in about 40 to 60 years?

MARVO: Probably.

HITLER: Auf wiedersehen.

MARVO: Bye.


Item: Del Monte Carb Clever Sliced Pears
Purchase Price: $1.00 (on sale)
Rating: 4 out of 5
Pros: Surprisingly good. Low-calorie. Fat-free. Lots of Vitamin C. Tastes almost like regular canned pears. Low-carb (I can’t believe it’s actually a positive this time)
Cons: Splenda. “Carb Clever” is a lame product name, alliteration doesn’t work well here.