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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Taco Bell's EVEN NEWER Crunchwrap Sliders!

I hope you like semi-spicy, junk-food-laden Hot Pockets variations with contents that resemble vomit!

By: Jimbo X
JimboXAmerican@gmail.com
@Jimbo__X

Even when Taco Bell isn't that great, it's still fairly enjoyable. Granted, the products have a tendency to run together due to their textural and mouthfeel similarities - if you told me to describe the difference between a Sriracha Quesarito and a Daredevil Loaded Griller (any of those motherfuckers), I don't think I could - but who cares if everything on the menu is fairly indistinguishable? What matters is that the Bell, even at their lowest level, is still affordable, filling and gustatorily satisfying enough to warrant indiscriminate nom after indiscriminate nom. Their almost-monthly product variations may not be getting any points for originality, but they score plenty of points when it comes to consistency. 

When I first started working on this article, I totally forgot that I had already covered the first wave of Crunchwrap Sliders last year. As such, I assumed that I was ordering four all-new products, but in reality, just two of the Sliders you can pick up at the Bell in early 2016 are original items. So if you are wondering about the quality of the two returning offerings - which are modeled after breastaurant sampler menu favorites, thematically - do yourself a favor and click this link right ' chere.

The Sliders themselves are pretty interesting little menu offerings. They aren't quite burritos, but you can't really call them tostados, either. Instead, they remain in this weird fast food interphase, as if a quesadilla and an enchilada were locked inside the teleportation machine from The Fly. That they come in paper pouches more befitting bread sticks just adds to their offbeat uniqueness. 

Aesthetically, they ain't much to look at. They are just slightly toasted tortillas wrapped up in a pseudo-pentagon shape, with a whole bunch of weird shit sealed inside them. They are fairly bulky, though, and their misshapen forms - you ever try to wrap up chunks of chicken and Frito's without the end outcome looking bumpy? - give the Sliders a certain eccentric charm. 

As far as our new dining options are concerned, we've got two new items to chew on. First, let's take a gander at the Sriracha Chicken Crunchwrap Slider, why don't we?

You know, it is a good thing these products are wrapped up tight, because if anyone saw the internalized contents displayed all open-face-like, dry heaving would probably ensue. Make no mistake, this stuff is uglier than homemade soap; the blend of puréed chicken, corn chip fragments and neon orange sauce looks less like something you would eat than something someone has already digested and barfed right back up.

Alas, if you can overlook the fact the product looks like ginger sauce-soaked cat food dumped inside a tortilla, you'll discover a fairly enjoyable fast food offering that is actually quite a bit spicier than most Taco Bell selections. The chicken is a little watery and the Fritos really don't add much at all to the formula, but the sweet chili flavor definitely makes everything come together. It is an odd mishmash of  textures and shapes, to be sure, but all in all, it is not a bad little novelty burrito. 

So there is already a Beefy Cheesy Nacho Slider out there, but the SPICY BEEFY NACHO CRUNCHWRAP SLIDER ups the ante by, uh, making it spicy? Yes, yes it does, indeed. And not unlike its Sriracha Chicken cousin, this thing looks all sorts of disgusting inside the tortilla. Shit, I'm half-tempted to post an up close photo of an open sore or my latest bowel movement; I highly doubt anyone would be able to distinguish them from the utter grossness of what the foodstuff actually resembles. 

Fortunately, although the product may look like diarrhea spray squirted all over a soft taco shell, the product itself is pretty yummy. This is definitely one of the spiciest Taco Bell products to come out in a long time, with the molten-cheese-soaked beef and Fritos chunks doused in a savory, smoky, Jalapeño ranch dressing that I am pretty sure the company has never trotted out before. Sure, it is no Lava Sauce, but it definitely does the trick. Overall, this thing may be nothing more than just a slight tweaking of a pre-existing product, but hey; at least it is one hell of a re-tweaking, no? 

OK, so these newfangled Crunchwrap Sliders aren't exactly going to set the fast food world on fire. Yes, they are rather formulaic and hardly adventurous remixes, but when the end product is so sinfully delicious, who cares? Simply put, the two newest Sliders - despite looking like rolled up barf - are really, really tasty, and at just one dollar a pop, you can scarf down enough of them to give you gastrointestinal regret for less than it costs to buy a decent spiral-bound notebook. It's classic Bell, through and through; familiar, affordable, aesthetically revolting, probably unhealthy as hell and unquestionably delicious. 

When it comes to drive-thru dining, looks and originality are both vastly overrated. While other fast food giants try to church up their line-up with pretentious, overpriced "premium" offerings, the Bell continues to excel in economical, on-the-go nomming, with these latest Sliders demonstrative of the franchise's formulaic greatness. They may not be the prettiest or most creative foodstuffs out there, but ultimately? I reckon I'll vouch for such satisfying, cost-effective sameness over pricey, ostentatious "innovation" any day of the week.

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The New Taco Bell Boss Wraps ... REVIEWED!

Are you man enough to chow down on two of the biggest honkin' burritos ever mass-manufactured by a fast food company? NO YOU ARE NOT. Maybe.

By: Jimbo X
JimboXAmerican@gmail.com
@Jimbo__X

LIKE A BOSS. I don't even know what that means, nor do I even know where the phrase originates from, to be honest. Sure, I could hit up the Urban Dictionary, but you know what? After putting down two of the largest Taco Bell products released in recent memory, I don't feel like doing shit. Except not moving and letting the cheese coagulate in my arteries. 

Indeed, it's been quite some time since I last did a review of Taco Bell produce. Is it just me, or does the Bell seem to be cutting back on the sheer volume of novelty foodstuffs being churned out? That, and it seems like they are pushing these experimental items for a longer duration of time - I swear, they were hawking those damn "Daredevil" Loaded Grillers that look and taste nearly identical for at least three months. 

Which brings us to the newfangled Boss Wraps. I suppose the best way to describe them would be like crunch wraps, except WAY bigger and with way more stuff jammed inside 'em. As in, a whole dadgum hard shell tortilla, just hanging out inside the flour tortilla exterior shell like some sort of Tex-Mex stowaway. 

As you can see from the above photo, these things are big and bulky. With the naked eye, you can pick up all of the chunky bulges of steak and if you have a really keen eye for fast food Mexican, you might even be able to spot the subterranean sour cream pool on the right-hand wrap.

These being grilled steak offerings, of course, they are a bit pricier than the average Taco Bell selection. The two permutations of Boss Wrap cost five smackers plus taxes, but considering their overall girth - and the high quotient of interior stuffings - that's a fairly reasonable price. And as a man who can eat a LOT of Taco Bell, let me be the first to tell you - two of these sumbitches in one sitting are MORE than enough to fill you up.

As for your options, you've got two paths to choose from. On one end, you've got the Fully Loaded Boss Wrap, which is one of the few Taco Bell items to include a guacamole as a primary ingredient. The other is the Steak and Potato Boss Wrap, which contains ... well, if you can't figure this one out, I'd reckon that's an automatic drug test. 

Let's begin with the Fully Loaded variation, shall we? As the name suggests, it has quite a bit of material wedged inside it, including:

• Guac (as stated before, a real rarity for the franchise)
• Sour cream
• Three cheese Mexican blend
• Diced tomatoes (they say it's pico, but it's not really pico)
• Lettuce (I think it's an Iceberg double blend) 
• A nice chipotle sauce (which doesn't really show up in the photo)
• Steak (a shocker, I know)
• A motherfucking hard shell tortilla (sorry, I have a hard time getting over that)

It actually took me way longer than it should have to figure out the "proper" way to eat this thing. You see, you don't nibble on it longways like a crunch wrap, you have to literally roll this bastard up like a newspaper and chew on it as if you were eating a XXL burrito. Considering the size of this beast, that's not exactly the most intuitive feeling in the world; and yes, you know shit starts flowing out of it as soon as you take the first bite. That said, it was nonetheless a yummy product, with the three sauces - guac, sour cream and proprietary chipotle - all coalescing into a remarkable confluence of flavors (chuacour cream, I nicknamed it.) As for the rest of the mix? The steak is adequately juicy and chewy, but it's most certainly not the high-quality fajita beef you'd get at a "real" Mexican eatery. The cheeses kind of tasted different (but not really) and - pardon the redundancy - fuck having that hard shell tortilla in there for no reason. 

And here's the Fully Loaded Boss Wrap's running mate, the Steak and Potato Boss Wrap. Gustatorily, this one actually tastes quite a bit different from its cohort, and for good reason: it, uh, has different stuff in it, I guess. As far as the ingredients go, here is a quick rundown:

• Sour cream
• Three cheese Mexican blend
• Little tater tot thingies
• Pieces of bacon (which are probably just pieces of Bacon Bits they keep in the back)
• Steak 
• A fuckin' great ranch chipotle sauce I could probably drink as a standalone beverage (more on that later)
• Once again, an utterly needless hard shell tortilla

Now this one, I really liked. Granted, it is a bit of a pell-mell assortment of ingredients, and yes, at first sight, it looks more like the contents of a slop bucket poured inside a tortilla than something you would actually want to eat, but believe it or not, all of it somehow comes together as a particularly zesty fast food offering. There is a nice mouth-feel to the product, with the crispy tots, crunchy pork bits and chewy steak pieces providing a nice confluence of tastes and textures. Here, the hard shell tortilla actually makes some degree of sense, and it completes the other materials quite well. However, the thing really putting this variation over the top has to be the stellar chipotle ranch sauce, which is arguably the best semi-liquid additive Taco Bell has ever produced - yes, even better than the much-ballyhooed Volcano Sauce. All in all, this is just a top-notch, super-filling offering - although, in my humblest o' opinions, the thing would have been even better with shredded chicken instead of shredded steak. Oh well - guess we will just have to wait for the inevitable redux in six months' time, no?

So there you have it, folks. The Boss Wraps are pretty solid, if not a tad overpriced, menu additions to the venerated Taco Bell line-up, that while hardly creative, are at least fairly tasty and filling. If you can only afford one, I'd definitely vouch for the Steak and Potato mix, if only for that superb ranch dressing filling (no hard feelings against the guacamole loaded one, but the hard shell tortilla just ain't gelling there at all.) It's not the best Taco Bell product to come along this year, but it is certainly above-grade; let's just hope its "success" doesn't goad the Bell into hiking up prices for future limited-time-only offerings ... or wedging more hard shell tortillas inside things that don't need them whatsoever.

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Taco Bell's Cap'n Crunch Delights!

I really, really hope you like lots of red-on-red images, folks...

When Taco Bell's highly touted breakfast menu went national last year, a lot of publicity was given to the ill-fated Waffle Taco. Sure, it was a pretty gross miscue on par with the Arch Deluxe, but all of that negative word-of-mouth obfuscated what were two undeniable triumphs of the brand roll-out. First, the A.M. Crunchwrap -- as proven by its myriad variations released over the last 365 days -- was a bona-fide fast food success. The other big winner in the re-branding process was a mere $1 item that many big chain breakfast enthusiasts initially overlooked -- the Cinnabon Delights.

Despite bearing more than a passing resemblance to "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" stalwart Meatwad, the Delights were (and are) precisely what the name implies -- a delicious, super-satisfying ball of sugar, enveloping an even more satisfying molten creme center. That they kinda' looked like hush puppies and left brown flecks of cinnamon dust and granulated sugar underneath your cuticles were mere asides -- this stuff was, in every sense of the word, tremendous.

That Taco Bell would eventually release a variation of the Cinnabon Delights isn't surprising in the slightest. What is surprising, however, is who Taco Bell partnered with for that product permutation -- Cap'n freaking Crunch.

Now, I enjoy his limited time only Halloween and Christmas flavored cereals as much as the next guy, but on the whole, I've never really been enthusiastic about the regular Cap'n Crunch cereal. It doesn't taste bad or anything, it just tastes, well, too normal for my liking. When I bite into a breakfast cereal, I want something unique and kooky, like Yummy Mummy or S'mores-flavored Krave. Unfortunately, as hearty as his puffy comestibles may be, he just ain't hitting me with enough of the weird to keep me interested in his volumes upon volumes of product variations.

But these Cap'n Crunch Delights, though? Well, they are something altogether different. Not only do they share more in common with the standard Cinnabon Delights offerings, you'd be hard-pressed to even detect the Cap'n Crunch flavoring in the menu item. Let's take a closer gander at these suckers, why don't we?

Right off the bat, let's get the testicles jokes out of the way. Yes, yes, these things do indeed share an uncanny resemblance to a pair of cherry red cojones -- an aesthetic made even worse since the flakes of cereal really make it look like the products have tufts of hair. For god's sake, the two I ordered even came in the dreaded "semi-colon" formation, which occasionally happens to guys testes' when one of them flips over sideways. Obviously, if you can't get past the mental image of chomping into Hellboy's nutsack, you should probably abandon ship while you still can. (Honest to the Almighty true story time, folks: when I ordered my pair, I referred to them as "Cap'n Crunch's balls," and the cashier almost had a nervous breakdown from laughing so hard.)

After a while, thankfully, these things stop resembling the devil's bollocks and begin to look more like strawberries with orange crap glued on them. Despite the claret hue, the balls ... I mean, 'Delights' ... still have a very profound cinnamon taste and texture, which completely overpowers the bits of cereal. I mean, yeah, you can technically taste the Cap'n Crunch, but only for a second or two before the sweet spiciness starts running around your tongue like a retard on fire. And interestingly enough, the red dye stuff doesn't seem to melt off on your fingers, which makes me want to ask some heavy questions about what kind of additives Taco Bell is adding to these things to maintain such a healthy -- albeit certainly unnatural -- sheen. 

Of course, the real highlight of the Delights ain't the Crunch, but the ultra-delicious, super gooey creme core that's probably one of the ten most pleasurable things I've ever placed inside my mouth. Essentially, it tastes the same as the standard Cinnabon Delights ball, but it has a really nice pop that's complemented by by the cereal bits. It's like getting a bit of granola in your vanilla milkshake -- sure, the textures clash a bit, but it's a harmonious clash that creates a gustatory Woodstock on your taste buds. And yes, I know full well the image above looks like what the kids today call a "creampie" -- and no, I am most definitely NOT talking about the beloved dessert offering.  

It's kinda' hard to give you a quick wrap-up thought on the new item. I mean, it is pretty much unnecessary, and it tastes so much like the original item that you kind of have to wonder what's the point. That said, it definitely has a cool aesthetic (a crimson red doughnut hole that spits tartar sauce-hued goop at you when you bite into it!) and the exterior mouthfeel, with all that kooky crunchiness going on, does taste quite unlike anything you've probably eaten at a fast food establishment before. When it comes to "cross-branded" novelty foods -- i.e., your Reese's flavored Oreos and what have you -- I tend to straddle the line on whether such is a neat consumer ploy or something really, really stupid and lazy. Essentially a tri-branded product, the new Delights are certainly excessive, but beyond their wacky external appearance, they're actually a pretty damn yummy (and super-affordable) drive-thru impulse purchase.

When the new Cap'n Crunch Delights were first announced, I figured it was nothing more than another smarmy, pseudo-ironic, hipster-baiting marketing move. While I still think that's the case to some extent, the overall product turned out way better than I thought it would. It's yummy, filling and unlike virtually every other fast food breakfast pastry, it doesn't dye your teeth a funky color or leave chunks of sugary dough all over your clothing when you go to town on 'em. Believe it or not, these things aren't just value-priced comestibles targeting the stoner demographics -- somehow, someway, the Almighty Bell was able to take what conceptually sounds like the grossest thing ever and package it into one of the most sickeningly enjoyable guilty pleasure fast food snacks in recent memory.

And, of course, the popularity of the product lends itself to some much more interesting permutations down the line. Halloween is nearing, guys -- how about whipping up some Boo Berry and Count Chocula Delights to go along with these suckers? Or how about Lucky Charms Delights in time for St. Patrick's Day? Hell, for that matter, why not go full on retro-revival and bring back Baron von Redberry or Sir Grapefellow in all-new, cinnamon and sugar-paste form?

You've got yourself a license to print money, here, Bell. Golden opportunities like this one just don't present themselves everyday, y'know...

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Taco Bell's All-New CHICKSTARS!

The age-old question has finally been answered: can Taco Bell do fried chicken?

I have it on good authority that the suits at YUM! Brands, Inc. are faithful readers of this blog. The all new Crispy Chicken Chickstars from Taco Bell conclusively proves this.

Last month, I reviewed the fast food franchise's latest and greatest product, the Sriracha Quesarito. I was none too impressed by said product, stating that I felt it was effortless and nowhere near as innovative as some of the brand's most recent offerings.

Well, fast forward a few weeks later, and look what we have here -- not just one, BUT THREE all-new, crispy-chicken-centric Taco Bell product lines.

Note, folks, that I didn't say "products," I meant three full-fledged mini-menus, including a new chicken quesadilla thingy and FOUR different chicken tender grillers. The belle of the proverbial ball, however, is clearly the trifecta of Chickstar Crunch Wraps, which are among the most unique foodstuffs the Bell has pushed out in quite awhile. And this, mind you, is from a company that actually thought people wanted to eat a waffle taco.

Now, these things are important for several reasons. First and foremost, unless I am terribly mistaken, this is the restaurant's first-ever foray into breaded poultry products. Sure, they've been handing out grilled-chicken strip-embedded products for decades, but this is a pretty considerable jump into uncharted territory -- I mean, these dudes be fucking with Chick-Fil-A's bread and butter, and as we all know, theirs is a most wrathful god.

Secondly, the products are a bit more expensive than the usual Taco Bell offering. Granted, it's not Chipotle-priced yet, but at $4.00 USD plus state and local taxes, it's definitely a heftier investment than the trusty uno dinero cheesy bean and rice burrito. Clearly, this things are being used to test the waters for greater portfolio diversity: if successful, expect to see LOTS more non-traditional Tex-Mex fare at the restaurant (the return of the Bell Beefer, we can only pray, is right around the corner.)

Oh, and as for the Crunch Wraps themselves? Well, we've got three to consider. Here are my quick and dirty reviews of each item ...

ITEM NO. 1:

The Bacon Ranch ChickStar Crunch Wrap!

It's a bit hard to tell, but the Thousand Island dressing-hued sauce is actually some kind of auburn-tinged, smoky ranch sauce. And, if you stare real hard enough, you might even notice a couple of teensy-weensy chunks of bacon in there, too. 

As far as the overall product, I liked it. It had a nice, savory texture, and the chicken strips themselves were a.) very crunchy and flavorful and b.) huge as fuck. Admittedly, it's a bit of a challenge figuring out how to eat the thing at first (you have to be selective with which corner you nibble on, or else you'll wind up with a big ol' perforation for your veggies and chicken chunks to fall out of), but once you pinpoint the structural weak point of the wrap, you'll do just fine. 

ITEM NO. 2:

The Mango BBQ ChickStar Crunch Wrap!

Now this was a real treat. Ranch dressing and chipotle sauce flavored products are a dime a dozen at the Bell, but when was the last time you chowed down on something there that had a profound BBQ sauce zing to it?

This was far and away my favorite of the triad. It had a very unique texture, and the mouthfeel of the product was really unlike anything you'd find at the restaurant. The salty-lettuce-and-tomato flavor, however, reminded you that you were still eating there, so it  also had a subtle familiarity. This is precisely the kind of item I want to see more of -- a menu offering that legitimately thinks outside the box.

ITEM NO. 2:

The  Chipotle ChickStar Crunch Wrap

This was probably the most predictable of the menu items. That doesn't necessarily mean it was bad -- actually, I found it quite delectable -- but compared to the other two products, it just felt a bit formulaic.

As with the other two items, you get two salty fried-chicken tenders, cheese, lettuce, tomato and a whole hell of a lot of tortilla to chew through. For whatever reason, I don't think the sauce on this one really gelled as well as it did with the other two -- I mean, it was there, but it just didn't seem to come together as harmoniously as it could've. Overall, it is good, but not exactly something I would consider good enough to drop nearly five bucks on, though.

At the end of the day, I think the Chickstars (a name I can only imagine will somehow draw the ire of womens groups, eventually) is a step in the right direction. Clearly, the products are experimental, but I like the possibilities here. I mean, Taco Bell and KFC are fighting under the same corporate banner, so why not just go ahead and start releasing fusion offerings? You know as well as I do that if they ever made a Colonel's original burrito, people would eat the fuck out of that. If they announced a Double Down Quesarito tomorrow, I'd probably be lining up right now.

But why stop at chicken, guys? Last time I checked, Long John Silvers is a company stablemate, too. Who wouldn't want to be able to waltz into Taco Bell and order a shrimp taco, or a chimichanga loaded with Alaskan salmon? Or, why not take it a step further and start selling a Cantina Bowl burrito featuring Taco Bell beef, KFC chicken and LJS fish inside the same dadgum product? It's the most obvious thing in the world -- crossbranded crossfood. I can't be the only person out there with the occasional hankering for some nachos and mashed potatoes or hush puppies and chalupas, am I?

That's a little something called corporate synergy, fellas. Take it from someone in that coveted (and market-research-mystifying) Millennial target audience ... such is indeed the wave of the fast food future.

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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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