Wendy's Bacon Deluxe Single

As promised, I hit the street, if Columbus Blvd counts as a street. On an errand back from Best Buy, Hassan requested a stop at Wendy's, and not the Chic Fil A obscuring it from our vantage point. I agreed, breaching my long standing policy of never eating fast food in a city, especially Philadelphia. This decision was made in the summer of 2006, when I worked at a school in the barrio at 4th and Lehigh. There was a Wendy's there that ruined Wendy's for me for at least two years, and I like Wendy's.

Of course, I've never had bacon on a burger from Wendy's. Judging by long-running advertising for the Baconator, this simple ingredient so enhances the nature of the sandwich that it occupies the forefront of its moniker simply with its presence within the buns. Since I've never seen an ad for the Pickle-nator, I can only assume that this is yet another testament to the magnitude of bacon.

Though there was no line at this Wendy's at this particular time, waiting for our surly servers to finish playfully cussing at each other was necessary before their jovial smiles turned to the indifferent droops staring blankly at us waiting for an order, allowing us just a touch of extra time to reconsider the meal decision. I was reminded of my fast food policy. I fought through it and placed my order.

With my Bacon Deluxe Single, a five piece chicken nuggets, and a coke, I took a seat opposite Hassan. The burger, unwrapped, looked the same as my usual standby. As always, I slathered the top bun with the barbecue sauce provided for my nuggets. With my sandwich reassembling with all the integral parts, I took a bite, my first bite, of an everyday favorite.

Initially, the crunch threw me off. Perhaps it was an effect of low quality, but the bacon crumbled in my mouth like lumpy soil. It was a distinct texture among the familiar elements of a Wendy's single, the only crunchy thing in the mix. The flavor remained relatively the same, perhaps slightly saltier. Though it was new and unusual, it didn't put me off, so I finished the burger with standard velocity. I could see how good bacon might enhance a sandwich, but what I had couldn't have been what caused the hype. The experience won't change my recurring order of a bacon free burger on my next highway rest stop.

The fact that there was so little pork involved, and some doubt that anything in the sandwich came from animals or plants, left me feeling pretty guilt free. The crack decision to turn this quick stab and grab for food into an adventure paid off by balancing out some of the fancier stuff I've had lately, and what I had here wasn't nearly as pork-y, psychologically speaking. Unless there is some other kind of pork fast food that I need to try, I think I've seen enough.