Taco Bell's All-New Quesalupa: An EXCLUSIVE REVIEW!

I got a sneak preview taste of Taco Bell's latest and greatest limited-time only offering. So does the much ballyhooed Quesalupa live up to all the hype?

By: Jimbo X
JimboXAmerican@gmail.com
@Jimbo__X

Taco Bell certainly knows how to do promotions. Even if you don't like the fast food establishment, you at least have to admire their stick-to-itiveness. Once these guys get a hold of something that works, they're going to milk it for all its worth. I fully expect to be eating Doritos Locos Tacos permutations until the year 2050 and by the time I am on my death bed, I wholeheartedly expect to have tasted Cinnabon Delights incorporating ever last General Mills cereal in production.

The peculiar thing about Taco Bell's ongoing quesa-everything jihad is that it is an idea more or less stolen from their No. 1 competitor. For years, hardcore Chipotle enthusiasts spoke of something called the "quesarito" - being, as the portmanteau would suggest, a whole damn quesadilla wrapped around a burrito. Or is it a burrito with a quesadilla inside it? Regardless, it was a fabled "secret" menu item that captivated the Internet. 

But Chipotle, you see, made a dire mistake. Instead of running with the social-media-spawned gimmick, they never took the thing national and incorporated into their regular lineup. Chipotle - that hipper, more adult taco shack, that prides itself on organic whole grain-blah-blah - was above mass-marketing such a hokey and corny product. They didn't want customers coming to their stores for kitschy freak food, but for high-quality, overpriced salads. And that's where Taco Bell took advantage.

Apparently not knowing they were sitting on a goldmine, the suits at Chipotle never trademarked the term "quesarito." This allowed Taco Bell's parent company YUM! Brands to swoop in and steal the core concept underneath their snooty, pretentious noses and mass produce their own damned 'rito. As expected, the Taco Bell version of the Chipotle "hack" was a huge success, spawning several variations including one augmented by Sriracha sauce and the other doused with the brand's beloved lava sauce. 

The end result? In 2015, Taco Bell sales increased 4 percent, while Chipotle sales declined 37 percentage points. Granted, a national e. coli scare was at the heart of Chipotle's disastrous performance, but still - ever since Bell got the quesarito - the cheese encrusted Spear of Habsburg it is - they have utterly dominated the pseudo-Tex-Mex market in the U.S. of A. 

And the latest stop on the quesa-everything express? By golly, would you believe they went and made themselves a Quesalupa now? Yes, that's right - a chulapa with a quesarito baked inside it. Yeah, you heard me right - not wrapped around, not wrapped inside, but motherfucking fried inside the flaky, chewy chalupa soft shell itself. I don't know how they did it either, but it's probably Satanism. You know, like the kind Hitler allegedly practiced in the waning days of World War II. BUT I DIGRESS. 

Before the product was wheeled out nationwide, those who printed out an RSVP coupon thingy were privy to trying themselves a sample 'lupa on Feb. 6. To say Taco Bell went all out for the promotion is kind of like saying the NFL gets just a wee bit grandiloquent in time for the Super Bowl. Stores are already adorned with promotional materials hailing the arrival of this (not-so) secret menu item. In fact, when you actually GET your Quesalupa, the thing is decked out in a spiffy, faux-gold wrapper, like it was the gilded winning ticket from Willy Wonka or a first-run copy of The Legend of Zelda. This thing, you can just tell, is going to be something special. 

As soon as you unwrap the packaging, you'll observe the 'lupa is wrapped up in a secondary wrapper, a'la the Doritos Locos Tacos. On one side it mentions the product's name (in case you have Alzheimer's and need to be reminded of what you're chewing at all times) and on the other, the product extols itself as "the cheese lover's shell" with an "extra cheesy center." You just know something has to have a lot of cheese on it and inside it, if it uses the word cheese twice on one piece of cardboard.







For the most part, the product is basically just your standard chalupa. In fact, just looking at the product, there is really no way to distinguish it from a standard 'lupa. It is not until you actually hold this sumbitch in your hand that you really find out this is a whole new menu offering. The most obvious distinguishing characteristic is that this thing is heavy, feeling almost twice as hefty as the regular chalupa. Interestingly enough, almost all of the product's weight is centralized toward the bottom, which has this weird rectangular-shaped base. In fact, it is so flat you can easily use it to stand the Quesalupa upright without any of its contents tipping over. And hey, speaking of contents...

...yeah, they are the exact same stuff you'd find in a regular chalupa. You get your ground beef (which I hear is now only 12 percent "mystery" product nowadays), some pieces of sliced tomato, a lot of iceberg lettuce, some shredded cheddar and of course, a big old dollop of sour cream hanging out at the bottom of the shell, just gluing everything in place. For the most part, the chalupa shell is unchanged, but with one huge difference. 

So, you might be wondering "eh, Jimbo, where's the fuckin' quasadilla part they promised us?" Well, Mr. and/or Mrs. Toilet Mouth, the quesadilla isn't around or even inside the chalupa. It is literally baked inside it, in much the same way the cheese is baked with stuffed crust pizzas. So fundamentally, the chalupa shell itself is really nothing more than a quesadilla caked in masa and deep-fried. Which, depending on your perspective, is either the grossest thing ever or the most delicious ... and probably both, at the same time.

It's pretty hard to capture the white cheese on white tortilla on white chalupa shell, so you'll just have to make do with this photo, I am afraid. Indeed, the bottom of the item is absolutely loaded with melted, delicious queso, and it certainly gives the product a nice, flavorful kick. Needless to say, this thing is very filling - as someone who eats cheesy bean and rice burritos like Tic-Tacs, I can assure you two of these things back-to-back will have you in a partial food stamp coma in no time. Alas, as I wrapped up my 'lupa (get it! because it's entire gimmick is that it is all wrapped up and shit), it suddenly dawned on me - this may very well be the first Taco Bell L-T-O product I've eaten in a long time that was sans a specialty sauce of any kind. As delicious as the 'lupa is - and yes, it is indeed delicious - it really could've used a little extra something to make it stand out even more. Then again, that's just part and parcel of Taco Bell's grander scheme, I suppose; we enjoy the Quesalupa for a month, it goes away, and just when we've all but forgotten about it ... coming, this August, the all-new SRIRACHA QUESALUPA! Mark my words, they will find a way to make a Fritos co-branded 'lupa - somehow, someway, someday. 

Remember kids: the number one cause of house fires are burritos.

All right folks, time for my final thoughts on the newfangled Quesalupa. Overall, I think it's a darn snazzy little product, and something I certainly don't mind paying $2.99 for. While it does sound like a gimmick, the surfeit of cheese welded inside the shell really does make the offering taste like something entirely different, and as I stated earlier, it unquestionably does a dandy job filling you up. With so much hype, though, I really wished the Bell would have done something entirely different, but then again, I suppose that's part of the big picture; you start off with the "normal" product, and then over the next two years, you wheel out all of the crazy shit - imagine, if your mind doesn't explode doing so, a bacon-bit encrusted, Volcano-sauce-doused Quesalupa, with like, a fuckin' ranch Dorito's flavored shell. Oh, it's coming. You know it is. 

So, uh, to conclude and stuff? The Quesalupa is good. Really, really good, and you should probably try it. And Taco Bell should give them to me for free, because considering all of the free publicity I've given them over the years, I more than damn deserve it. 

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Chipotle Sofritas!

At long last, America's other go-to taco shack finally has a faux-meat veggie alternative ... but are the much ballyhooed burritos really worth a hoot?

Back in the day, the Federal Communications Commission had this thing called the “Fairness Doctrine.” Basically, it was a policy that forced radio stations to give equal air time to both liberal and conservative viewpoints. As evident by the staggeringly disproportion number of gas bags on talk radio who think all black people want to shoot cops and burn down gas stations and that the Homosexual Agenda is somehow leading to an Islamofacist takeover of Western Civilization, the FCC really isn’t much of a stickler on that rule all that much nowadays.

Although the suits in D.C. may not be making any efforts to bring objectivity to the masses, rest assured that we here at The Internet is in America want to do all we can to bring you a truly impartial, well-balanced anti-consumerist and anti-pop culture humor and entertainment site. As such, you’ve probably noticed that a good 43 percent of the blog consists of articles either explicitly or obliquely referencing Taco Bell. Well, as a matter of broadcast journalistic integrity, I have decided to finally put the spotlight on America’s other star-spangled taqueria. No, not that one, the one people actually go to.

Chiptole really is the photo negative of Taco Bell. Whereas the Bell is all about bringing you high-speed, semi-authentic Tex-Mex at the lowest consumer cost possible, Chipotle is anchored around the exact opposite marketing approach: there’s no drive-thru, the eating spaces are cramped, and odds are, you’re going to have to wait in line for quite awhile before you get your nom on. Without question, the two brands are competing for different sets of clientele; with their more expensive, sort-of-like-Moe’s-only-with-fewer-ingredients assembly line model, Chipotle seems to target the more affluent fast food diners, while Taco Bell’s dedication to gloriously unhealthy high-concept foodstuffs unequivocally proves the subsidiary is dedicated, first and foremost, to serving really poor people or people of normal income who smoke a lot of drugs.

Even the dining area aesthetics are completely antithetical; one is warm with lots of pastel colors and corporate art, and the other is basically a post-modern factory, complete with gun metal tables and lighting that seems lifted out of a Austrian meat locker. And if that wasn’t enough of a yin-yang situation for you, the musical selections at each restaurant seem to be at odds, too; at the Bell, you’re bombarded by either bubble gum pop singles or plasma screen in-house infomercials, while at Chipotle, you’re assailed by this genre-less, gunky drumbeat accompanied by low-pitched electronic wails.

Clearly, a comparison of the two restaurants is like listing the similarities between night and day, or fire and ice, or Libertarian ideals and reasonable foreign policy. Alas, the absolute biggest discrepancy between the two brands is the menu. Whereas Taco Bell is all about providing you with as many stand-alone products as possible, Chipotle’s menu has remained relatively static since its inception. Ultimately, the reason why I haven’t really covered the restaurant in-depth in the past is because, frankly, the franchise doesn’t really release anything new to talk about -- and my nearest location appears to be one of the few in the country that’s never heard of the fabled “quesarito,” either.

The arrival of the Sofrita, thusly, is pretty important on two fronts. First, it’s a new item being offered by the chain, which is the type of thing that happens with the seeming regularity of Harper Lee novels being published. Secondly, it’s a tofu item offered by a national fast food chain, which is about as rare as catching a glimpse of D.B. Cooper holding hands with Bigfoot.

For those unfamiliar with the Chipotle model, it's pretty simple to explain. Instead of walking up to the counter and asking for a Chili Cheese Fries Loaded Griller, you pick a type of Tex-Mex dish and some marble-mouthed teenager who smells like peppermint gum and weed screams at you what about what kind of beans you want before handing off your item to another marble-mouthed teenager who smells like peppermint gum and weed who screams at you about what kind of meat you want. This happens about five or six times over the course of ten seconds, with other marble-mouthed teenagers asking you about lettuce, toppings, sauce and salsa before a junior college general education major rings up your order. Simply put, you never really know what you're going to end up with at the restaurant -- sometimes, you wind up with more toppings than you ordered and sometimes, less. One time, I ordered two tacos and wound up with a rice bowl.

The Sofrita, as such, isn't a fixed menu item. Instead, it's a type of protein topping you can add to your burrito, taco or salad as a substitute for shredded beef or chicken. Since I was being rushed through the line like the building was on fire, I didn't even have time to snap a picture of the sofrita-faux-meat in the little plastic container next to the black olives and guacamole. That said, I did see the stuff pass by in a blur -- it was chunky and red, more closely resembling ground chorizo than shredded beef.

If you are curious about the nomenclature, the term "sofrito" seems to roughly translate into "stir-fry" in English. However, the Wikipedia says that "sofrito" is actually the name of a traditional, spicy stew that's popular in the Mediterranean, which, technicallly, the Chipotle Sofrita is not.

I guess the best way to describe the core concept of the product is "spicy tofu," since the stuff is seasoned with poblanos and actual chipotle peppers -- you can even see some of the flakes in the protein paste, if you look for them hard enough.

In my sofrita test-taste, I decided to opt for the burrito incarnation of the dish. I tried to keep the additional toppings to a minimum so as to best gauge the gustatory quality of the new product, so I went with the blandest ingredients I could -- standard white rice, black beans, shredded white cheese and no veggies to speak of whatsoever. I even skipped the salsa for this showdown, and as we all know, the salsa is pretty much the best part of any Southwestern food experience.

On my introductory go-around with the Sofrita, I was conflicted. The big positive with the new item is that it is indeed spicy -- WAY spicier than anything you'll find at Taco Bell, for sure. Of course, this also leads to a singed butt hole a day later, but hey, that's just part of the total sensory experience.

In terms of taste and texture though, I was a bit disappointed. While the faux-meat does have a nice kick to it, it really doesn't have much of a flavor of its own. I know, that's a complaint you can lob at tofu products in general, but I've downed some fairly yummy soy dogs in my day, and I KNOW Chipotle can do a better job than this of flavoring their newfangled product.

Really, the big problem with the dish is its inconsistency. Like greasy snowflakes, no two pieces of Sofrita  are the same in terms of texture. You may get one speckle that's almost shaped like a hunk of ground beef, and the next bite is like a chewy piece of sausage. You never really get a good sense of mouthfeel rhythm going on, and it makes the entire process disjointed and a teensy bit frustrating. It's not a gross-tasting product by any stretch, but at the same time? Man, does this thing lack anything even remotely resembling an idiosyncratic fast food personality.

Of course, that's not to totally pee all over the product. I mean, it's good for what it is and if you're a hardcore vegan, I'm sure you'll like it. That said, this stuff really isn't giving me any kind of excuse to go out of my way to try it, especially at such a steep price point. Sorry, hipster scum, but for the price of just ONE of these damn taco salads, I can pick up a half dozen Cheesy Bean and Rice Burritos at the Bell. With that sort of disproportionality in volume, the whole quantity vs. quality debate doesn't even matter anymore.

If you have a lot of money in your pockets to burn or you are some kind of eco-terrorist earth-firster who just HAS to eat whole-organic bean paste or shrivel up into a ball and die, I reckon the Sofritas will do you just fine. However, even as a "premium" fast food item, I still think it's lacking in the flavor department, and quite frankly, you could probably whip up something else faux-meaty at home that's even tastier, and probably quite a bit cheaper, too.

It's OK, but just OK, I am afraid. It's probably worth one chow just for the experience, but truthfully, I think we're all a bit better off just hanging out at the taco-place of the Proletariat -- as is the case with most scenarios in life, I have long attested.

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Taco Bell’s all-new Sriracha Quesarito!

They’re pretty much the exact same products that have already been released, only this time, they are covered in a slimy coat of Asian chili sauce. So, does that addendum alone make the offerings worthy of your hard-earned dinero? 

Taco Bell, we need to talk.

My love for your hearty, affordable and probably-safe-for-human-consumption foodstuffs has nourished both my stomach and my soul over the last two and a half decades. You were there with me on my first date in high school and you kept me awake during final exams throughout my university years. I’m not 100 percent sure here, but I think my first word may have even been “enchirito.”

Over the years, I’ve covered almost every single weird-ass product you’ve released, from waffle tacos to nasty ass dollar menu burritos stuffed with chili and crumbled up French fries. Ever since the rousing success of the Doritos Locos Tacos -- in essence, the “Smells Like Teen Spirit” culture-unifying moment of my generation -- you’ve taken it upon yourself to mass market at least one high-concept fusion product every month. Sometimes, the results are a success, and other times, they are not. To be frank, I’m worried about you. It seems like you are no longer releasing menu items to sate the stomach of a starving, huddled America, but merely to pique the curiosity of the Buzzfeed crowd. Your drunken quest for publicity has driven you to that point of no return, effectively turning you into the Lindsay Lohan of the fast food industry -- only instead of showing your auburn-hued muff to TMZ, you’re test marketing Cap’n Crunch doughnut balls that not even the highest of the highest junior college kids could possibly find palatable.

Consider this an intervention, Bell. And also, a review of your all-new Sriracha Quesarito products, too.

A while back, Taco Bell decided to pull the fast food dick move of all fast food dick moves and actually manufacture and sell something called a “quesarito.” For those not in the know, the “quesarito” is the name of a mythical “off the menu” offering at number one competitor Chipotle’s chain of restaurants. It’s a move just as brazen as if Burger King were to start advertising a “McGangbang” sandwich on billboards and audaciously calling it a “McGangbang” sandwich to boot.

The half quesadilla, half burrito item -- which came in chicken, steak and shredded beef permutations -- was OK. Nothing too memorable, but nothing utterly regrettable either. Well, Taco Bell has decided to re-release a Criterion version of the products, only this time, there’s a new variable -- the inclusion of a massive dollop of Sriracha Sauce.

Now, to be fair, your overall enjoyment of this product really hinges on whether or not you consider the beloved sauce delectable or foul-tasting. Personally, I’m on the fence -- I enjoy it sometimes, but I most definitely would not consider it the type of fix-in that gels well with most varieties of food. Clearly, I don’t plan on dunking a Cadbury Screme Egg in a heaping bowl, nor do I plan on complementing it with a nice side of Yummy Mummy. It makes the new quesaritos polarizing by default, and I can hurry up and summarize it for you real quick here: if you like Sriracha Sauce, you might like these burrito abominations, and if not, it’s a pretty good bet you’re not going to like these things one iota.

Before we even get into the gustatory quality of the items, two things jumped out at me. First, how about that awesome multi-item foil wrapper, which literally lists about a half dozen products on it? For a company that makes billions a year, you kind of figured the Bell would have produced something a little bit ritzier for the new items. I mean, shit, they even made little specialized cardboard sleeve-thingies for their DLTS -- you know they have the budgeting for that kind of shit.

The big surprise, though, is when you actually open the products up. On the advertisements, the quesaritos come in what appears to be some kind of crimson red armband, but on my order at least, no such dressing was included. That really put a damper on my parade, because I sort of expected the items to be like the Doritos Locos Tacos, where instead of the gimmick flavor being on the inside, it’s actually built into the exterior shell. Alas, there is no such luck with the Sriracha Sauce Quesaritos, for they look about as plain Jane as, uh, whoever the original plain Jane was, I guess.

However, if variety is a requirement for you to get your drive-thru nom on, the new items do not disappoint. Not content with just ONE variation of Sriracha Quesarito, the Bell actually gives us THREE different products to chew on … both literally, and figuratively. But, yeah, mostly the part about being literally.

First up, we have the shredded chicken permutation. There’s really not too much to talk about here (and really, the other two products, to be blunt), because despite the presence of poultry chunks, cheese, rice and what appears to be sour cream, the only thing you can really taste is the chili sauce. It’s not a bad flavor, overall, just an extremely overpowering one that makes literally everything else in the tortilla completely flavorless. I mean, you get the texture of the chicken and rice, but the Sriracha sauce completely dominates your taste buds, like it was the color purple beating up all the other colors. If you like chicken … well, it really doesn’t matter, I guess, because with this product, you sure as hell can’t taste it.

With the steak Sriracha Quesarito, the actual interior contents are a little bit more distinguishable. As in, you can actually taste a little bit of the steak bits every now and then, but still, the chili sauce conquers all. The product is noticeably heavier than the other two offerings, which explains why it costs a couple of cents extra. Strangely enough, it also seemed to have sort of a lime-juicy tincture that the other two offerings did not. All in all, it’s an OK eat, but nothing to really drive out of your way for.

The third and final iteration is your standard just-add-hot-water shredded beef selection, and weirdly enough, this just so happens to be the yummiest of the trifecta. I can’t explain the fast food voodoo in action with this one, but the beef and chili sauce don’t seem to completely merge into a singularity of Sriracha-ness like with the other two products. Future generations, I can only imagine, will use that analogy to replace the old standard about oil and water not mixing. Since you get a nice, proportional taste and texture, it really does provide a pleasing mouthfeel experience, and of the three, this is the one I would advocate for if you had to make a split-second decision between the triumvirate.

As I was saying earlier, the foods are decent, but nothing to write home about, either. Then again, if for some reason you are actually writing letters to people nowadays, odds are, it wouldn’t be about something so banal as Taco Bell produce, but who am I to make assumptions?

I hate to say it, but I think this is a warning sign that Taco Bell may have hit their creative apex. I mean, the writing has been on the wall for quite awhile, but a product this bland and formulaic definitely gives fast foodies reason to be concerned. My suggestion for the company (actually, a subsidiary of Yum! Foods, but we don’t have to get into the technicalities) is to give it a break for awhile. Instead of cranking out the next generation of Fritos-flavored Doritos Loco Tacos burritos, how about going back to the drawing board and coming up with something truly innovative? I mean, shit, you really haven’t done much with the taco salad over the last 30 years, and it’s not like there’s a sizable subculture out there of folks clamoring for the return of the old “three olive” enchirito or anything. Hell, it might even be high-time to give the Bell Beefer another go at it. Heck, if BK can re-release the motherfucking Yumbo, I reckon these United States are probably ready for a Taco Bell hamburger.

Regardless, you are on a slippery slope, Bell. Today, it’s Sriracha Quesaritos and Starburst flavored freeze drinks, but tomorrow? You may have fallen so low as to have to offer edible coffee cups for people to give a shit about you.

Is that really what you want, amigos?

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Taco Bell's All New Quesarito!

Is it a burrito, or a quesadilla, or simply a rolled up slice of heaven?

It's clear that Taco Bell views Chipotle as a major threat to the U.S.-ified Tex Mex fast food chain hierarchy. First, there was their line of gourmet tacos and burritos that looked and tasted suspiciously identical to Chipotle's much ballyhooed rolled up and bowled foodstuffs. Then, there was the Bell's announcement that it was going to open up its own line of higher-scale fast food eateries, whose MO sounds pretty much identical to Chipotle. And now, taking this rivalry to almost Bloods vs. Crips proportions, Taco Bell has fired what may very well be the fast food taco chain equivalent of the shelling of Fort Sumter: they've actually went and MASS MARKETED the competitor's off-the-menu urban legend!

The Quesarito, historically, has been known as a "secret" item that select Chipotle chains across the U.S. offered to customers who were in the know about furtive fast food offerings. Basically, a "quesarito" was a standard quesadilla, melted cheese and all, wrapped 360 degrees around a burrito. Sure, it sounds gross at first, but after a while, the inherent deliciousness of the concept strikes you. It may very well be the most ingenious way of making people fatter since the advent of the fried brownie, in my humblest of opinions.

I've tried ordering a quesarito a few times at various Chipotle stores, but always to no avail. With T-Bell riding high off their super-awesome breakfast menu blitzkrieg, I suppose they figured now was a good time to continue the offensive strategy, this time by defictionalizing their number one competitor's most mythical menu item!

Indeed, the items are EXACTLY what you'd expect them to be. They're semi-gourmet burritos -- topped off by your choice of meat -- blanketed by a thick, gooey tortilla wearing molten cheese like warpaint. I'm guessing the universe as a whole is split, 50-50, on whether or not that's the most salivating idea ever, or the absolute freaking grossest.

Currently, the Bell is offering three variations of the Quesarito. We'll take a look at the steak permutation first -- primarily, because that was the first one I opened up.

As you can see for yourself, we've got quite the medley of flavors going on here. There's cheddar cheese, some wild rice, some sour cream and a smidge of chipotle sauce, alongside the sinewy chunks of dead steer. Of the three variations, this was probably the least bold in terms of flavor; for fast food adventurers who don't like any surprises, this is probably your best bet heading into the Great Quesarito-Off of 2014.

Next up is the beef version. As expected, it was extremely greasy, even on the outside of the tortilla. Of the three, it definitely felt the lightest.

I'd have to say this was my least favorite of the trio. For one, it didn't feel as if there was anywhere near as much rice chunked into the 'rito,  and the overall cheese and sour cream quotient felt pretty low, too. Nobody will ever hail Taco Bell for having the best ground beef in the world, so however you feel about it in normal Bell offerings will probably swing your overall impression of this item.

The shredded chicken Quesarito was definitely the heaviest of the three permutations, and smelled the weirdest, too. It almost smelled like Texas Pete, but then again, I guess anytime you combine poultry with chipotle sauce, that shit's going to end up smelling like hot sauce, no matter what.

This one was probably my favorite, because there appeared to be way more sour cream and sauce tossed into the goulash. I've never been a big fan of chicken, but this one certainly outdid both the steak and beef versions. The nacho cheese also seemed to gel the best with this one: overall, I'd say this is probably the best way to experience the Quesarito...that is, until the Bell inevitably wheels out their special Doritos Locos Tacos Quesarito. With chunks of grounded up waffle taco in it.

All in all, I thought Taco Bell's stab at Quesaritoes wasn't half-bad. They probably won't become anybody's favorite menu item, and their longevity as an offering is definitely suspect, but as a quick meal, circa July 2014? These things will do you quite well, especially if you are already fat, really sweaty, and not just giving a damn about most things anymore. Which, I know, is pretty much everybody reading this right now.

The big question now, I reckon, is obvious: will Chipotle strike back by trotting out THEIR version of the much-requested old school Taco Bell enchirito this autumn?

Stay tuned, fast food Tex-Mex enthusiasts: things are starting to get very interesting around these parts...

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