Tag: Wendy’s

There is not much you can buy for a dollar. Maybe four pieces of Now & Later candies from my neighborhood convenience store that sells the coveted synthetic cannabis K2 and the weird miniature glass domes with a suspended tiny rose. What the hell do you with those anyway?

You could buy a few back issues of the Adolescent Radioactive Black Belt Hamsters dumped in the yellowed back issue bin from the depressing comic book shop I used to frequent. Parsonovich, you never got your due and I’m still waiting for that autograph on my personal copy of issue number two I sent you.

I bought a few of those “like-porcelain” Chinese soup spoons for my upcoming dinner party and those were a buck each. You know the kind, those enamel-shined white ones that turn yellow after it has been through your dishwasher once.

The point is, there’s nothing much you can buy for a dollar that is worth it.

Wendy’s, however, wants to rectify that with its new Spicy Chipotle Crispy Chicken Sandwich. I normally go for a burger but sometimes you just want something different, like a breaded chicken sandwich.

Gracefully, Wendy’s presented a sandwich that doesn’t emphasize you’ve only spent a paltry dollar nor will the taste remind you that you’re cash-poor (Who isn’t? My funds are all tied up in liquid assets, homies). Sure it’s a small sandwich, but it’s roughly four-inch diameter hides a good hammering of flavoblast (not a word).

The yellowish-orange mayonnaise-based chipotle sauce is tangy, earthy, and packs some heat. I know some of you smart asses are going to be all “Heat? I eat molten lava and even that sheeeeeeyit ain’t hot, Brosky!”

Look, it’s got heat for a GODDAMNED fast food sandwich, let alone a ONE DOLLAR GODDAMNED fast food sandwich. I’ll say it’s weaker than Tabasco, but stronger than your order of “American hot” Szechuan beef. You know those cooks back that are laughing at you, right?

The heat lingers a bit, which is always welcome. I was surprised the chipotle sauce went well with those sucky, ubiquitous, and rubbery pickled jalapeño peppers. I discard those immediately whenever they’re scattered on my dish at a Tex-Mex restaurant. However, those green pieces of bouncy crap works in this sandwich!

It’s clever because the acid from the pickled Jallapopos (also not a word) carries the heat and cuts through the creaminess of the chipotle dressing. It’s similar to a spicy tartar sauce, so a big ups for this brilliant twist.

The white pepper jack cheese made an impression as big as the announcement for another Resident Evil movie sequel (enough already!!!). I found the cheese to be useless because it didn’t enhance or add depth to the sandwich. Frankly, the spicy character of the pepper jack was muted. It was simply flavorless, characterless, and sad like my stupid goldfish.

But the breaded chicken was awesome. It reminded me of those school cafeteria chicken patties that were well seasoned and not greasy. I still dream of those things and have been unable to find a comparable version.

The crunch from the chicken was very nice and the chipotle sauce complemented it very well. The chicken was also moist and juicy. It also had a robust, slightly roasted taste that paired well with the chipotle sauce.

I was really amazed because when I hear a fast food burger or sandwich costs a dollar, my excitement hovers around the “let’s look at your vacation photos” level. By the way, if you’re one of those offenders, know that no one enjoys looking at your toes in the sand or that you’re holding a seashell in one hand and a fruity drink in the other. Nobody.

The Wendy’s Spicy Chipotle Crispy Chicken Sandwich delivered on both adjectives in its name. Even though I griped about the cheese, it’s still a minor quibble because overall, this chicken sandwich was fantasticachillionaire (definitely not a word).

(Nutrition Facts – 420 calories, 210 calories from fat, 23 grams of fat, 6 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 9 grams of polyunsaturated fat, 6 grams of monounsaturated fat, 50 milligrams of cholesterol, 1110 milligrams of sodium, 230 milligrams of potassium, 36 grams of carbohydrates, 4 grams of sugar, 3 grams of fiber, and 17 grams of protein.)

Item: Wendy’s Spicy Chipotle Crispy Chicken Sandwich
Purchased Price: $1.00*
Size: N/A
Purchased at: Wendy’s
Rating: 8 out of 10
Pros: The sandwich is spicy and the chicken is crispy. The deep earthy flavor of the chipotle sauce plays very well with the pickled jalapeños. It’s only a dollar. Making up words.
Cons: The cheese was flavorless. The cheese added no depth to the sandwich. Looking at vacation photos is NEVER fun.

*Note: It’s being advertised for 99 cents, but mine was a dollar.

Chipotle.

What does it mean?

They tell me it’s a smoked jalapeño, but the word has been repeated so much in recent years, it might as well be Klingon on my tongue. Assembled in an American trend factory, “chipotle” has been introduced to the public, pumped full of hype and then abandoned, surreptitiously left outside to slowly evaporate. My brain doesn’t even register it anymore. It took me three passes to not just read “Wendy’s Spicy Jr. Cheeseburger.” Chipotle. Chipotle. Chipotle. Oh no, I just summoned a Beetlejuice made of peppers.

Standing in line waiting for my order at the local Wendy’s, the question suddenly presents itself: What exactly am I about to eat? And then I look up to see this sign.

Thoughts, in order: Is this Russian? I can read “brioche.” Can I … read Russian? Am I in Russia right now? (I am waiting in a line for food, after all). Have I been in Russia my entire life? Does Wendy’s serve cold beet soup? … What is chipotle again? Am I ordering a cheeseburger with a mediocre Mission-style burrito on it? A cheeseburgeritto? Well, at least I know nobody in Russia would come up with “cheeseburgeritto.” I must be in America. Whew. Anyway, I got the cheeseburger and it wasn’t bad!

The Wendy’s website lists the components of the Spicy Chipotle Jr. Cheeseburger in a handy list. “Sandwich bun, junior hamburger patty, spicy burger sauce, pepper jack cheese.” If you’ve dabbled in the Wendy’s value menu before, the bun and patty are familiar. The bun is springy, functional, and inoffensive. The patty is chewy like a warm ground up sponge, but, like, a reasonably tasty sponge. The meat is also noticeably less greasy and flavorful than the non-“Right Price Right Size Menu” burgers.

Oh, boy.

“Right Price Right Size?” Shut it down, Wendy’s. Nobody wants to say that many words. I’ll eat at Wendy’s every day for a year if one person has ever said the name of that menu out loud in casual conversation. (Someone say it! I need an excuse to eat Wendy’s for a year!)

Let’s get to the flavor portion of the pageant. There’s the sauce, cheese and jalapeño, which, in concert, give a decent kick to the burger. While the aforementioned “spicy burger sauce” is a little too mysterious for my liking, it has a hit that immediately dissipates into a soft numb that barely lingers at all. The tiny pile of jalapeño looks like it fell off a truck on the way to a Subway, and definitely exhibits that earthy jalapeño taste, for better or worse. The peppers are sliced but not chopped, and the texture of “full” vegetables along with the spiciness kind of recreate the feeling of eating some sort of torta-burger concoction. The cheese adds a reliable, creamy counterbalance to the bite of the sauce, rounding out the burger.

The Spicy Chipotle Jr. Cheeseburger is a decent choice (great for the price point) but feels a little like a relief pitcher, good enough to get you through a few innings but not the entire game. It has a unique heat that seems to draw inspiration from Mexican sandwiches, rather than the sharp, aggressive burn from most other fast food spicy fare, which almost marginalizes it as a novelty or a side dish. Since it lives on the value menu, perhaps that’s by design.

I would recommend getting this item in a collection of foods, as it serves as a good change-of-pace burger. Okay, we ain’t in Russia for sure. We eat so much we got change-of-pace burgers, y’all. And I’ll eat Wendy’s every day for a year if Vladimir Putin has ever eaten anything that had “chipotle” in its name.

(Nutrition Facts – 340 calories, 170 calories from fat, 18 grams of fat, 7 grams of saturated fat, 1 gram of trans fat, 55 milligrams of cholesterol, 930 milligrams of sodium, 210 milligrams of potassium, 24 grams of carbohydrates, 4 grams of sugar, 2 grams of fiber, and 17 grams of protein.)

Item: Wendy’s Spicy Chipotle Jr. Cheeseburger
Purchased Price: 99 cents
Size: N/A
Purchased at: Wendy’s
Rating: 7 out of 10
Pros: Great price. Well balanced flavor. Good chance of pace from regular Jr. Cheeseburger.
Cons: Some may not cotton to the taste of jalapeño. Not satisfying enough to eat just one. Saying “Right Price Right Size” out loud. “Chipotle” means nothing. Never learned Russian.

I believe a burger is as good as its bun and vice versa. I’ve had the unfortunate experience of eating a juicy medium-rare, perfectly seasoned hamburger that was ruined because it was on a dry, whole grain, toasted English muffin. And I’ve eaten a dried out, over-cooked burger on a luscious and rich onion bun.

Both occasions left me with the urge to punch someone in the face as I defecated on the floor like an untrained puppy. It just pissed me off on how thoughtless these burgers were concocted. Seriously, Dante may have given up immediately if one of the circles of hell was to eat a burger on a whole grain English muffin.

In regards to hamburgers, neither the bread nor the beef is more important than the other because when in unison, there is a harmonious perfection that is stronger than either part alone. It’s an amalgam of pleasure and guilt that is achieved by simple concepts: beef and bread.

So when Wendy’s touted their new brioche buns with the re-tooled Bacon Portabella Melt, a.k.a. Wendy’s Bacon Portabella Melt on Brioche, I was mildly intrigued. I know I can be a complete asshole at times. So when I heard Wendy’s was putting brioche on the menu, I scoffed and went about my business drunk internet shopping.

Granted, most of us want a normal burger from a fast food joint. Yet, a little twist on the “gourmet” side is always welcome. Despite how judgmental and skeptical I was, I made the choice to try it because I knew it could not be worse than eating a burger on a fucking DRIED WHOLE GRAIN ENGLISH MUFFIN.

I was a bit put-off by the price because, at $5.99, it’s getting close to those “order to temperature” burgers. However, I was really surprised by the brioche bun. It was bronzed and toasted. The bread had a nice chewy give with the slight toasty edge. There was not the eggy/buttery-richness one normally gets with a brioche but it was not bad for a fast-food bun.

In addition, the bun defiantly (and definitely) held up against the juicy burger, wet mushrooms and melty cheddar sauce. The bread did not get soggy or mushy which made up for the almost-timid taste of the bun.

As for the melty cheddar cheese, this again was piss poor Velveeta-like nacho crap. I hate that shit and whoever invented it sucks. I absolutely despise this kind of “fake cheesery” and felt the burger would be miles better with just the melted American cheese alone.

With that said, the “melty” cheese sauce had an unnatural salty tang but the portabella mushrooms countered this with its earthy flavor and only added to the rich deep taste of this burger.

The beef patty was jammed pack with beefy goodness that should awaken your alpha “Affliction-wearing tee-shirt” soul somewhere. Too often do we get a dried beef patty from a fast food place but Wendy’s is usually consistent on the juice to beef ratio.

Another plus, the burger is bereft of rabbit food. Meaning no stupid lettuce or even a brined cucumber slice to stand in the way of the cheese, meat, cheese orgy!

The bacon was plentiful, nice and crispy with its salty fat that rounded out the offering nicely. Additionally, it added a good porky taste that just indulges your “to hell with all kale salads” side.

Combined, this burger had a deep and complex profile. The muskiness of the mushrooms lent a great reservoir of flavors unheard of in a quick-serve burger. I was surprised because the portabella resembled those spongy mushrooms from a can tossed like an afterthought on a bad pizza.

Yet, it’s not the brioche but the portabella that really makes this burger shine. The mouthfeel is significantly like a “restaurant burger” and the taste is just as equal. I ordered the single, but you can get the double or triple if you’re looking for a heart attack in the quickest and most efficient manner.

I quite liked it and would pay for this again if I have the urge for a “restaurant”-style burger and can’t get to one.

Besides, price alone isn’t always the worst thing if you want to splurge. Because the worst thing is a burger served on a whole grain English muffin. If ever offered one, just pull down your pants, bend over and ask for a donkey punch instead. Trust me, that would be much more delicious and humane.

(Nutrition Facts – Single Burger – 600 calories, 300 calories from fat, 34 grams of fat, 15 grams of saturated fat, 1.5 grams of trans fat, 1.5 grams of polyunsaturated fat, 12 grams of monounsaturated fat, 125 milligrams of cholesterol, 1390 milligrams of sodium, 36 grams of carbohydrates, 6 grams of sugars, 2 grams of fiber and 34 grams of protein.)

Item: Wendy’s Bacon Portabella Melt on Brioche
Purchased Price: $5.99
Size: Single
Purchased at: Wendy’s
Rating: 7 out of 10
Pros: The portabella mushrooms really give the hamburger a rich complex flavor. The brioche has a wonderful texture and it’s toasted. The bacon only adds to the richness. Fried kale with garlic is actually nice.
Cons: The melty cheddar cheese sauce sucks. The brioche is not as eggy/buttery as brioche should be. The price may scare some off. Kale smoothies are awful but not as bad as friggin’ burgers on whole grain English muffins.

I don’t usually spend much time in these reviews talking about my day job, and for good reason: the only thing more boring than your own job is hearing about someone else’s. As it is, most of you are only reading this to grab five minutes away from the drudgery of your workday, why would you want to hear about mine?

Nonetheless, I’m going to break my own rule to tell you that a large part of my day involves using someone’s personality traits to predict how they might perform in various jobs. When an individual shows signs of being a creative risk taker, I’ll often tell their potential employer, “This person is going to want to come in and make some changes. It’s not that your current processes are necessarily ‘broken,’ but very few things in life are perfect, and this is the type of guy who’s always looking for ways to make improvements.”

Why do I bring that up? Because more so than most foods, you’d have a hard time finding any non-vegetarian who would argue that the cheeseburger is broken, let alone a bacon cheeseburger. What’s there to fix? Most keyboards won’t even let you type the words “bacon” and “broken” in the same sentence. I just had to cut and paste that, and Spellcheck still asked three times if it was really what I wanted to write. I suspect it’s going to change it to “Canadian bacon” on its own initiative.

Be that as it may, Wendy’s is having a go at improving the cheeseburger, and you can bet it came from the brain of one of those outside-the-box thinkers. Inevitably she was driving to work one day and suddenly thought, wait… what if we took everything that’s great about bacon cheeseburgers and added America’s favorite street vendor food? Who could say no to that? Wendy’s is hoping the answer is “Not you,” although you’ve wisely chosen to seek out my counsel before hitting up the drive-thru. Check and mate, Dave Thomas.

In concept this is a pretty simple change — they’re not replacing the patty with ostrich meat or rolling out a new cheese invented specifically for this sandwich, they’re just replacing the standard type of bun with pretzel bread. It does come with sweet & smoky honey mustard sauce, though they will leave that off upon request, only 50 percent of the time with a follow-up look of “What are you, a weirdo?” Otherwise, the most dramatic adjustment is that it looks significantly larger than standard Wendy’s burgers.

Like a woman walking behind Matthew McConaughey and Bradley Cooper, I actually do like the buns; but these pretzel rolls retain their shape better and are just overall taller than the standard buns. If you’re used to eating regular Wendy’s burgers, you may actually find yourself having to open your mouth wider, which should be good practice for when they unveil their new fall product, a live pig.

Okay, so the pretzel buns look appetizing, but how does that translate to taste? Pretty well, all things considered. We’ve all been out at a sporting event and bitten into a pretzel that you know was made the last time your team was good. (Cubs fans, I feel you.) The exterior is as hard as tungsten, the inside practically flakes into dust instead of twisting softly into your mouth, and all the salt has congealed together into one large land mass, possibly inhabited by primitive sodium men.

I’m glad to say Wendy’s Pretzel Bacon Cheeseburger doesn’t fall prey to any of those. The exterior is firmer than your average bread bun, true, but it still yields with a nice crunch when you bite into it, and that carries through to the inside as well. It’s chewy without being overly so, and the flavor doesn’t intrude on or overwhelm the taste of the meat or cheese. As for them, you can see from the picture that the bacon was plentiful. The cheese was fine, nothing especially noticeable but decent, and the burger was grilled well. For a man who usually orders Jr. Cheeseburgers, this is the good stuff.

So what’s the bad news? Well, if it seems odd that I haven’t used the word “salt” more, it’s because there isn’t any. Or rather, there’s the colossal, turn-your-stomach-if-you-really-think-about-it amount contained in the beef and bacon and cheese, but there aren’t any large granules on the pretzel bun. I don’t know if they tested it and found it was just too salty, but I’d at least like to have the option. Because without it, this really isn’t that much different than eating a regular (good) bacon cheeseburger. Still awesome, but really… the bun is the last thing you notice about a juicy burger with toppings.

It’s like a long snapper in football: important, but still the least noticeable component. You’re inevitably going to value the bacon and beef and cheese and honey mustard far more, and they haven’t changed. Plus, perhaps this goes without saying, but eating more than one of these burgers in a year automatically disqualifies you for health insurance. Eat three and Chris Christie will personally visit your house to ask what the hell you think you’re doing.

This puts me in an uncomfortable position as far as the rating goes. The addition is minor, enjoyable but really not that much of an upgrade; yet it’s being added to what was already a superior product. Do you give Apple props for adding a camera to the iPad even though no one wants to hold up a tablet to take pictures? Most people seem to, and after all, it’s hard to fault a genuinely good fast food burger just because the titular improvement is easy to forget after two bites.

Either way, this is definitely worth trying for yourself — act quickly, as it’s a limited-time summer food unless it proves popular enough to hang around. (Because God forbid we have a pretzel-and-beef snack food still available for Oktoberfest…)

(Nutrition Facts – Single burger – 680 calories, 320 calories from fat, 36 grams of fat, 16 grams of saturated fat, 1.5 grams of trans fat, 3.5 grams of polyunsaturated fat, 13 grams of monounsaturated fat, 115 milligrams of cholesterol, 1110 milligrams of sodium, 540 milligrams of potassium, 46 grams of carbohydrates, 7 grams of sugar, 2 grams of fiber, 37 grams of protein.)

Item: Wendy’s Pretzel Bacon Cheeseburger
Purchased Price: $5.69 (burger only)
Size: 1/4 lb burger
Purchased at: Wendy’s
Rating: 8 out of 10
Pros: Really looks appetizing. Doesn’t skimp on bacon. Not being a Cubs fan. Firm but not tough pretzel bun. Individual cardboard box rather than just a wrapper = swank. “Oh, you hate your job? There’s a support group for that. It’s called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar.” ~Drew Carey
Cons: No salt on the pretzel bun. Uppity Spellcheck. Being a 2013 Phillies fan. Not exactly your cheapest meal option. If I’d seen the nutritional facts of a value meal beforehand, I would’ve just punched myself in the crotch a few times instead.

“That’s it?”

“Yea. That’s it.”

Such completed my transaction of the new Frosty Waffle Cone. Anticlimactic, brief, and disheartening, the short exchange with the Wendy’s guy as I looked upon this innovation of fast food desserts — this long-hoped for, anxiously awaited breakthrough in hot-as-balls spring day relief — was matched only in brevity by the experience of eating the dissolving agglomeration of chocolate, cream, and God knows what else.

Yes, like Frosty the Snowman in the Greenhouse, the new Frosty Waffle Cones don’t last long. But unlike Frosty resurrected by the magic of Christmas, a melted Waffle Cone doesn’t freeze back up into a sweet confection.

You’ll have to excuse my somber tone. I do take my frozen desserts rather seriously, especially when it comes to the frozen dairy in a cone department. Having once perfected the seven loops of a Rita’s Large Frozen Custard Waffle Cone during a summer job, I feel a certain affinity towards sweet and creamy chocolate served with a crispy handle. Combine this affinity with a lifelong fixation upon the chemical properties of the not-quite-milkshake Frosty, and the revelation that the iconic frozen treat was getting the Waffle Cone treatment should have had every capacity to complete my life.

Yes, my life.

So you’ll imagine my dumfounded indignation upon seeing the liquidy puddle of chocolate Frosty barely reaching out of the Waffle Cone. While I pride myself in having advanced my use of imagery as a writer since my kindergarten days, the cone did, in fact, bare a strikingly resemblance to a diarrhea laden dump.

Clearly, there is no truth in advertising anymore, and while I’d love to say that I was able to overcome this construction shortcoming, the fact is that I wasn’t four or five steps out the door before the Frosty concoction began to melt. Instead of licking the Frosty as you’d lick the soft serve ice cream in a traditional cone, you’re really forced to slurp the Frosty more than anything else. It’s a completely acceptable means of ingestion when you’ve got the benefit of a cup and a straw, but as the puddle of Frosty spills out onto your hands from the cone, you might find yourself wishing you had brought a bib.

The taste of the Frosty isn’t bad. Obviously it tastes like a Chocolate Frosty, what with its sweet and not too intense cocoa flavor, but it strikes me as not having the standard consistency of the Frosty. It’s as if the particles of cream and sugar and mono and diglycerides are in active rebellion, and by melting so quickly proclaim a chorus of ‘hey, what the hell is this cone thing we’re floating in?’

As for that cone thing, take it from a seasoned waffle cone aficionado. There’s something off about it. A good waffle cone is malty with a slight give. You should be able to taste a batter component in there beneath that first crunch, and it should be sturdy enough to provide a thick crunch. This cone was more crispy than anything, with a bland sweetness that came off as cheap.

If you’re looking to suffer disillusionment in the arms of a fast food classic, or perhaps if you just want to get sticky stains on your steering wheel and endanger the lives of motorists after a cruise through the drive-through, then yes, I highly recommend Wendy’s new Frosty Cone. However, the next time I wish to beat the heat on a hot day, I think I’ll just stick to the traditional Frosty in a cup. It’s classic and delicious, and what’s more, its construction doesn’t remind me on diarrhea.

(Nutrition Facts – 1 Chocolate Frosty Waffle Cone – 300 calories, 6 grams of fat, 3.5 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 20 milligrams of cholesterol, 160 milligrams of sodium, 54 grams of total carbohydrates, 2 grams of dietary fiber, 35 grams of sugar, 7 grams of protein, and 20% calcium.)

Item: Wendy’s Original Chocolate Frosty Waffle Cone
Purchased Price: $1.69
Size: 1 cone (feels smaller than a Value Frosty)
Purchased at: Wendy’s
Rating: 3 out of 10
Pros: Original Chocolate Frosty is still sweet and chocolatey. Cone is crispy and not stale. Not as bad for you as regular ice cream.
Cons: Looks like the Frosty machine took a dump in a Waffle Cone. Melts immediately. As in, before-you-can-pay-immediately. Cone lacks substantial crunch or malted flavor. Slurping up Frosty doesn’t give you time to enjoy the simple pleasures. Small. Inconsistent Wendy’s value menu pricing.