A (Disgustingly Honest) Review of the Taco Bell Breakfast Menu
The easiest way to have a heart attack before 9 a.m. has recently been discovered. The Taco Bell breakfast menu launched March 27, undoubtedly giving toilets everywhere a new definition for "Good Morning!" Being the selfless person I am, I volunteered myself to try the new breakfast line and report back to civilization with all the
runny, gassy delicious details.
I woke up this morning ready to embark on the digestive journey of a lifetime. After neglecting my morning workout, (because honestly, working out before going to Taco Bell is like wearing a D.A.R.E. shirt while cooking meth) I showered, put on pants, and hopped in the car. (These facts are important because I was about the only human in the place that possessed those credentials.) After driving into the parking lot past a drive thru lane that more closely resembled a rush hour traffic jam, I was mentally prepared to meet my diarrhea-y destiny. I opened the door to Taco Bell.
The sight that met my eyes was a line of college students including more people then come to one of my lectures on an average day. The only explanation was that God sent the Taco Bell breakfast menu down from heaven to serve as the hangover cure for the college students of America. I looked up to the heavens and was met with the brilliant glare of the breakfast menu. Staring down at me was a wall of creations that would run through my intestines faster than Michael Phelps swimming through the pool at the Beijing National Aquatics Center. I was thrilled.
The menu featured goodies such as the Waffle Taco, a waffle gently cradling a sausage topped with egg and cheese as gently as I imagine the Virgin Mary had cradled her infant son. The next menu item was the A.M. Crunchrap, which looked like an underpaid employee wearing ill-fitting black dress pants had shoved a hash brown topped with eggs and cheese into a flour tortilla. The final noteworthy item on the menu was the Cinnabon Delights: deep fried donut balls filled with molten frosting and enough calories to make me want to permanently fuse my finger down my throat.
After a twenty minute wait, Jake (my boyfriend, who came with as a precautionary measure to call for help in case either of us went into sudden cardiac arrest) and I both ordered the bacon A.M. Crunchrap and a 12-pack of the Cinnabon Delights (which, FYI, are otherwise offered in servings of two. And for damn good reason. I honestly imagine I would've felt less sick drinking a 12-pack of beer then eating a 12-pack of those little balls of intestinal wrath.)
Then the food came. The A.M. Crunchrap looked pretty close to the description above, except mine came without cheese (which is kind of a requirement, because it was the only ingredient that would've served as any form of blockage against the eagerness of my stomach to remove the toxins.) The Cinnabon Delights were probably the most incredible thing I've ever eaten… at least they were for the first few minutes. After eating roughly six in a five minute span, I revised my list of the most painful bodily experiences, bumping childbirth down a spot second to the pain of consuming excessive Cinnabon Delights.
I left Taco Bell several pounds heavier and feeling like I was about to erupt á la Mount Vesuvius. But I have to give Taco Bell credit-- they created a really cultural experience, regardless of the fact that it is directly linked to a national obesity pandemic.
In conclusion, you don't choose when to rid yourself of the Taco Bell breakfast menu, the Taco Bell breakfast menu chooses… with little to no warning.
Happy feasting!
