After days of frenzied salivation, I finally got my greedy little taste buds on the much vaunted Wendy’s Baconator. To the uninitiated and clueless, this is a Baconator:
A thing of beauty (the heart attack, cholesterol-y kind) this Burger Made for the Gods (or late-teen-to-young-adult, males, according to the Wiki article). Of course, PR pictures are always a far cry from the actual product— everyone knows that (I’d be a moron to expect a neatly stacked, non-greasy sandwich, really). This is what a Baconator looks like, IRL (after several chomps):
Careful. It can sense fear. And probably disgust.
What is in that?!, you must be thinking. No shred of lettuce or a pickle slice, for sure, this baby is devoid of greens (the way real men prefer their burgers!). According to the Wendy’s website, a Baconator is made of six strips of hickory smoked bacon piled high atop two 1/4 lb. patties of fresh (never frozen!) beef complete with two slices of American cheese, mayo, and ketchup. And grease. Lots and lots of grease. As Lauren quipped last night: at least we all know that the Baconator is not a First Date Meal (or something like that).
Some friends and I had a Baconator Meet-Up yesterday (aka we made an event out of it lol) and among the four of us, I was the first to obliterate my burger. As I gingerly folded the greasy, nasty foil that the Baconator came wrapped in, I started feeling my body go warm, as if it was begging me to get on my feet and walk around in circles to burn the calories I had just consumed. My mouth was also a bit sore, as if it had just been raped. My heart and chest felt fine, though, and I have never been so glad to be too young for heart attacks.
Total damage done to my hips, thighs, arms, belly, and ass: 830 calories, 460 calories from fat. 51 grams of fat, 22 grams saturated fat, 2.5 grams trans fat, 170 mg cholesterol, 1920 mg sodium, 35 grams carbs, 1 gram fiber, 8 grams sugar, 57 grams protein.
Although far from a gastronomical delight, I wouldn’t mind having another Baconator in this lifetime. Maybe once every two months, preferably when feeling suicidal.