 Wendy's
Ever inscrutable, enigmatic, and unpredictable, the Illusion Master emerged this month with a rare Hot Potato toss well within my comfort zone.
The assignment: eat at any Wendy's restaurant and eat a Classic Triple. La Fée reminded that the rules forbid the tosser from designating an actual food choice when tossing a restaurant review, due to possible conflicts with the tosser's diet.
I, however, had no problem with the Classic Triple requirement. I went so far as to guarantee consumption of a Classic Triple, a Biggie Fries, and a Medium Frosty. My cardiovascular system protested briefly, but once I threatened it with a return to non-stop heroin abuse, the protests ceased pretty quickly.
I am a cheeseburger purist, meaning that I take my burger with no vegetable matter applied to taint the glorious beefiness. Meat, cheese, ketchup, mustard – that's all a burger needs in my opinion. (Well, bacon is always a plus, or childflesh, but these weren't available in this case.) Adding lettuce, tomato and onion to a sandwich this size always results in a huge fucking mess that you can't even hold onto … not everyone has the sandwich savvy of Dagwood Bumstead, you know.
The burger was damn good. Wendy's burgers have always been a little better than your average fast food burger, and this one was no different. It was very tasty, and not nearly as heavy as I might have expected. A similar sandwich from McDonald's would have shut down my digestive tract for days and menaced my colon like a prison rapist.
I've never been too big a fan of Wendy's fries. If you don't get them right out of the fryer, they just get mushy and limp. These particular fries were probably only a few minutes old. With ketchup, they were adequate.
The Frosty was probably the only reason most people went to Wendy's back in the day. Rich, chocolatey, delicious, and utterly classic. I love how they have never once fucked with the formula by adding a new flavor, or chocolate chips, or M&M's, or motor oil, or rusty nails, or what have you. It's chocolate or chocolate. Don't like it? Go to Dairy Queen. This one was the same as every other Frosty I've ever had – fucking great.
I suppose I can wrap this up by mentioning the conversation the Speedwife and I had about how Wendy's needs to bring back the old-school tables with the old newspaper ads on them. As a kid, I could spend the entire meal reading and rereading them. I mean, it was either that, or talk to my parents. What would you have done?
Review by Mario Speedwagon, August 2003 |
