Friday, January 11, 2008
Vending machine snack review: Burger King Ketchup & Fries potato snacks...
...or how I took one for society
Last week, I was getting a Snickers bar out of the vending machine at work when I spied this disturbing product perched on the top row. A Burger King-branded bag of ketchup and french fry-flavored potato snacks? I immediately snapped a photo with my phone and sent it to Ang with the caption, "I think I am going to vomit."
Several times over the ensuing days, Ang and I discussed how utterly vile a ketchupy potato treat sounded. But we soon moved on. In fact, I had forgotten about them until my coworker Matt marched in today and asked if anyone had seen the new product for sale in the vending machines, these BK ketchupped fry monstrosities. We all agreed that they sounded awful. This time, however, the thought of them stuck with me. For the sake of science, I had to try these horrid-sounding "treats." Borrowing change from several coworkers, I marched to the break room for the fries and a beverage. If I was going to bite into one of these things, I was damn sure I was going to have a Diet Pepsi -- or at least a tall mug of chilled porridge -- on hand to wash it down. After pumping in an insulting fee of 70 cents, I rescued a tiny, surprisingly light bag from the bottom of the machine.
Closer inspection of the bag by Mr. Potato Head and me revealed the familiar tagline "Have it Your Way" below the Burger King logo and disgusting photo of the red-speckled fried strips of food mockery. Trust me, if I had it my way, this product wouldn't exist, and I wouldn't be eating it.
Mr. Potato Head says, "You're going to eat this crap, Jeremy?" Softball Lenny does a pushup.
And the listed net weight of 1.75 ounces explains why the bag felt so light when I snatched it from the vending machine. So basically I could liquify 2 entire bags of this shit and get through airport security without so much as a flared nostril.
Turn the bag over, and we find a silver-colored box proclaiming "50 years of perfection" followed by:
"Of course we're talking about America's favorite burger: the flame-broiled, made-to-order WHOPPER®. Accept no imitations." But apparently you have no problem with us eating an imitation of your fries, which already imitate food.
"Because no matter which of the 221,184 different ways you choose to customize it, you can bet you're getting it your way. That's what makes a WHOPPER® a WHOPPER®. Anything less is a massive disappointment." What you're about to eat is not a Whopper, so we're just giving you clear warning of the disappointment you are about to experience. And what the hell did all of this have to do with the contents of this bag?
"What's better than ketchup and fries?" Not having heart disease?
"How about a mystical merge of ketchup, fries, and snack chips? You heard us. Only from BK™." I'm not sure exactly how mystical ketchup, fries, and chips are independently, but that is exactly the word I would use to describe a combination of the three. Mystical.
"A flavor that pairs the yin flavor of your favorite BK™ side with the yang crunch of chip. Keep on chippin' on." Keep on chippin' away at that persistent artery blockage. Let's see if we can pare it back to about 90% blockage from the current 95%.
But all that reading was just a stall. I was putting off the inevitable. I tore the bag open and was drop kicked with the putrid, sickly sweet smell of imitation ketchup and potato chips. I grabbed a chip, closed my eyes, and tentatively bit into it. It actually wasn't bad. Now when I say that it wasn't bad, I mean that it didn't cause me to immediately empty the contents of my stomach onto my desk. I took the bag around to each of my coworkers, and most had a very similar opinion -- it wasn't nearly as awful as it sounds. But it wasn't good, either. Personally my favorite reaction was that of Mrs. Ronny Gunz (she also works here). She took a bite, scrunched up her face, and her neck compressed and subtlety recoiled as if she were tamping down a dry heave. "Oh, it's WEIRD!" It sure is, Mrs. Gunz. It sure is.
Mr Potato Head: "I'm a cannibal!"
Uh... Darth Ernie, this is food. It's for eating, don't put it on your -- eh, whatever.
Further research (reading more of the bag's labeling) found that this small bag of crispy affronts to humanity was made by Arizona-based Inventure Group. Not surprisingly, these are the same people who make a line of snacks based on T.G.I Friday's appetizers. Cheese Quesadilla Chips, Cheddar and Bacon Potato Skins, and Hot Pepper Jack Cheese Fries. Oh, but it gets worse. Much worse. I came to find that not only does this company make tomato-free ketchup-flavored snack crisps with the Burger King brand, they also make Burger King Flame Broiled Potato Snacks. You have got to be fucking shitting me. Hamburger-flavored potato chips. The greasy taste of a hamburger mixed with potato chips. There's your mystical merge. How do these people from the front page of the Inventure Group website feel about it?
They feel like dancing. But with swollen tums full of soggy potato squeezings and spice extract, I have a feeling they'll be breaking for a nap soon.
Last week, I was getting a Snickers bar out of the vending machine at work when I spied this disturbing product perched on the top row. A Burger King-branded bag of ketchup and french fry-flavored potato snacks? I immediately snapped a photo with my phone and sent it to Ang with the caption, "I think I am going to vomit."
Several times over the ensuing days, Ang and I discussed how utterly vile a ketchupy potato treat sounded. But we soon moved on. In fact, I had forgotten about them until my coworker Matt marched in today and asked if anyone had seen the new product for sale in the vending machines, these BK ketchupped fry monstrosities. We all agreed that they sounded awful. This time, however, the thought of them stuck with me. For the sake of science, I had to try these horrid-sounding "treats." Borrowing change from several coworkers, I marched to the break room for the fries and a beverage. If I was going to bite into one of these things, I was damn sure I was going to have a Diet Pepsi -- or at least a tall mug of chilled porridge -- on hand to wash it down. After pumping in an insulting fee of 70 cents, I rescued a tiny, surprisingly light bag from the bottom of the machine.
Closer inspection of the bag by Mr. Potato Head and me revealed the familiar tagline "Have it Your Way" below the Burger King logo and disgusting photo of the red-speckled fried strips of food mockery. Trust me, if I had it my way, this product wouldn't exist, and I wouldn't be eating it.
Mr. Potato Head says, "You're going to eat this crap, Jeremy?" Softball Lenny does a pushup.
And the listed net weight of 1.75 ounces explains why the bag felt so light when I snatched it from the vending machine. So basically I could liquify 2 entire bags of this shit and get through airport security without so much as a flared nostril.
Turn the bag over, and we find a silver-colored box proclaiming "50 years of perfection" followed by:
"Of course we're talking about America's favorite burger: the flame-broiled, made-to-order WHOPPER®. Accept no imitations." But apparently you have no problem with us eating an imitation of your fries, which already imitate food.
"Because no matter which of the 221,184 different ways you choose to customize it, you can bet you're getting it your way. That's what makes a WHOPPER® a WHOPPER®. Anything less is a massive disappointment." What you're about to eat is not a Whopper, so we're just giving you clear warning of the disappointment you are about to experience. And what the hell did all of this have to do with the contents of this bag?
"What's better than ketchup and fries?" Not having heart disease?
"How about a mystical merge of ketchup, fries, and snack chips? You heard us. Only from BK™." I'm not sure exactly how mystical ketchup, fries, and chips are independently, but that is exactly the word I would use to describe a combination of the three. Mystical.
"A flavor that pairs the yin flavor of your favorite BK™ side with the yang crunch of chip. Keep on chippin' on." Keep on chippin' away at that persistent artery blockage. Let's see if we can pare it back to about 90% blockage from the current 95%.
But all that reading was just a stall. I was putting off the inevitable. I tore the bag open and was drop kicked with the putrid, sickly sweet smell of imitation ketchup and potato chips. I grabbed a chip, closed my eyes, and tentatively bit into it. It actually wasn't bad. Now when I say that it wasn't bad, I mean that it didn't cause me to immediately empty the contents of my stomach onto my desk. I took the bag around to each of my coworkers, and most had a very similar opinion -- it wasn't nearly as awful as it sounds. But it wasn't good, either. Personally my favorite reaction was that of Mrs. Ronny Gunz (she also works here). She took a bite, scrunched up her face, and her neck compressed and subtlety recoiled as if she were tamping down a dry heave. "Oh, it's WEIRD!" It sure is, Mrs. Gunz. It sure is.
Mr Potato Head: "I'm a cannibal!"
Uh... Darth Ernie, this is food. It's for eating, don't put it on your -- eh, whatever.
Further research (reading more of the bag's labeling) found that this small bag of crispy affronts to humanity was made by Arizona-based Inventure Group. Not surprisingly, these are the same people who make a line of snacks based on T.G.I Friday's appetizers. Cheese Quesadilla Chips, Cheddar and Bacon Potato Skins, and Hot Pepper Jack Cheese Fries. Oh, but it gets worse. Much worse. I came to find that not only does this company make tomato-free ketchup-flavored snack crisps with the Burger King brand, they also make Burger King Flame Broiled Potato Snacks. You have got to be fucking shitting me. Hamburger-flavored potato chips. The greasy taste of a hamburger mixed with potato chips. There's your mystical merge. How do these people from the front page of the Inventure Group website feel about it?
They feel like dancing. But with swollen tums full of soggy potato squeezings and spice extract, I have a feeling they'll be breaking for a nap soon.
i love ketchup. i think its one of life's greatest inventions.
you could put it on a pile of turd and i'd eat it.
I put ketchup in my coffee.
Darth Ernie seems pretty down to earth.
The misses and I have narrowed it down. It's because it tastes like what a hot BK fry and ketchup... or catsup?... tastes like... minus the hot.
It disturbed us to the core.
You are the king of weird snack food reviews. I too would have tried these chips in the interests of research.
Having read your review, I am glad you beat me to it.
I am just glad you've gotten away from your Mexican food racism.
Carl, you say that about all condiments. I still kind of like ketchup and butter sandwiches though.
Muscleyarm, Darth Ernie keeps poking me with his light saber while I try to get work done. Tell him to stop. There's a cup of tomato roast in it for you.
Ronny, it has been years and years since I've eaten at BK, so I didn't really have much frame of reference. It just tasted like a tittyfuck gone bad.
Teucer, I'll let you handle the Flame Broiled chips.
Max, next week I plan on continuing my series of restaurant reviews. Next up: Bread & Chocolate in St Paul. I will almost surely be accused of hating black people and bands from the 70s.