Taco Bell, basketball and shrink rays at the KFC Yum! Center

Photo courtesy of the only certified fiancée of Rick's Food Critique, Deb Oonk (@dloonk in the Twitterverse).

What would you eat upon first visiting a basketball arena named for the fast food formerly known as Kentucky Fried Chicken? KFC, right?

Wrong! Fried chicken doesn't go with sporting events. The correct answer is something a little more at home in the bleachers, like hot dogs, burgers or french fries. Or even nachos.

At least, that was my thinking during a trip this weekend to the curiously named and confusingly punctuated KFC Yum! Center in Louisville, Ky. I was there with my affianced to see our alma mater, Syracuse University, meet the University of Louisville in a college basketball game. But in an arena named for one of the food industry's major players, it seemed appropriate to set up a pregame session with some concessions.

A small problem: In a burst of poor planning, I snacked on a gas-station chicken sandwich during the drive to Louisville. And my better half had indulged in her own box of service-station nuggets. So we weren't ready to chomp down on any more chicken. It was a lack of foresight, I know. And it's one for which I apologize profusely to all of you reading out there in cyberspace.

Fortunately for us, the KFC Yum! Center isn't just named for Col. Sanders' favorite feeding fix. It also carries the banner of KFC's owner, Yum! Brands, which is a Louisville entity packing KFC, Pizza Hut and Taco Bell in its portfolio. Logos for all three of those restaurants line the arena's exterior.

So my betrothed and I settled on splitting some Taco Bell Nachos BellGrande. After all, nothing says Kentucky like nachos.

Not much about the Nachos BellGrande I was handed spelled "grande" or "big." To be fair, I wasn't expecting much in the way of portion size. I've eaten at my fair share of professional, faux-amateur, Division I sporting events, so I wasn't surprised at the half-plate of nachos I received nestled in a little black plastic oval.

Congratulations, walkie-talkie dude. You've photobombed the food critique!

More surprising was the size of the nacho chips themselves. At which point did Taco Bell write its chips into the script of "Honey, I Shrunk the Kids?" The tiny triangles certainly weren't full-sized nachos, what with their longest sides measuring about an inch and a half (There's another of my failings on this trip -- I didn't expect to need my measuring tape). That's not a size designed for dipping.

The dipping lineup gave us pause as well. Our Nachos BellGrande came with ground beef, refried beans, diced tomatoes, nacho cheese and sour cream. It had no lettuce. Sure, Taco Bell's website tells me the sour cream was reduced-fat, but that will hardly satisfy the raging health nut in me that demands shredded iceberg on his imitation Mexican meals.

In years past, the included dipping slatherings would have overpowered Taco Bell's nacho chips. Tiny nachos seem to pack a powerful punch, however, as they held up well against the sog-inducing tandem of refried beans and nacho cheese. No fork was necessary to scoop up this snack until the very end, when it served to rodeo chip particles rather than scrape together limp corn sludge.

One final note on the arena Nachos BellGrande -- $8. Eight bucks. There's little else to say. Yes, sporting-event food is more expensive than its drive-thru counterpart. No, that doesn't make the hit on your wallet any less agonizing.

Overall, Nachos BellGrande net three sporks out of a possible five. The basketball, on the other hand, was top of the line. 'Cuse won by two in a game that went down to the wire. Let me also give a big thumbs-up to the Louisville fans who refrained from harassing those of us who were wearing Syracuse orange after the clock had struck zero. Several even came up to me to talk about what a great game it was. Southern hospitality, it seems lives on.

Now if only the Yum! Center prices were a bit more hospitable ...

Anyway, check check below for some cell-phone photography of our trip to Louisville.

The Yum! Center offers some nice views of the Ohio River.

Photos catch a giant milk-jug blimp flying around the arena before the game.

Contributor William Reinier (@SGTWillReinier) suggested a trip to Fourth Street.

Moe's Spicy Trio Burrito

Bear with me, foodies, as I share a lengthy story about burritos. Trust me when I say it will be worthwhile in the end.

Two weeks ago I visited my local Moe's franchise in hopes of sampling a burrito off of the new Spicy Trio Menu, which is anchored by special jalapeno sour cream and spicy queso. As you may guess, the Spicy Trio is made up of three selections: burrito, quesadilla and rice bowl. The burrito -- what anyone in their right mind would try first -- is stuffed with chicken, rice, black beans and pico de gallo, plus the aforementioned spicy queso and jalapeno sour cream.

Alas, when I walked through the door of Moe's I knew all was not right. The workers behind the counter, who typically greet patrons with a semi-enthusiastic "Welcome to Moe's," were silent, their voices lost in feverish concentration as they busily prepared food. I'm willing to forgive this slight oversight of Moe's etiquette -- they were working hard, after all -- but this slip was definitely foreshadowing things to come.

I reached the counter and placed my order, only to be met with devastating news: there was no more spicy sour cream. The worker behind the counter offered to build my burrito with spicy queso, standard sour cream, jalapenos and cilantro instead. Brokenhearted, I accepted.

Fast forward nine days and I stood back at the same Moe's placing the same order after the workers again failed to greet me -- not that I'm complaining. The restaurant was extremely busy.

But being a food critic is tough work. My return to Moe's in the face of no greetings stands as a shining example of the fact that I'm willing to doggedly pursue the subjects of my reviews for the sake of you, my loyal readers. I'm proud to report the dedication paid off. The restaurant had both jalapeno sour cream and spicy queso for my burrito the second time around.

All this back story basically means I'm able to evaluate the individual impacts of the spicy queso and jalapeno sour cream -- a position I wouldn't be in if I hadn't tasted the burrito with and without said sour cream. Burritos are great at mashing up ingredients and confusing flavors, after all.

For starters, I can tell you that the jalapeno sour cream is good but not earth-shattering. Being both a sour cream and jalapeno enthusiast, I was ready for the worker building my meal to spoon on gobs of the sour cream to smother my burrito in a creamy-yet-hot symphony. Instead she picked up a bottle -- the kind they keep ketchup in -- and squirted some sour cream on my burrito. That spread out the cream and left me wanting more densely packed areas.

The spicy queso, on the other hand, is positively glorious. It's cheesy, hot and gooey, leaving every bite slathered in fantastic flavor. I could rave about it for paragraph upon paragraph, but I'll spare you from any long-winded odes. Just go out and try some for yourself.

In the end, I suppose it shouldn't come as a surprise that the spicy queso is stronger than jalapeno sour cream. After all, queso and heat go together like peas and carrots. And you can't run away from a match made in heaven.

Four sporks out of five for the Spicy Burrito. If I'd been able to get both jalapeno sour cream and spicy queso on my first visit, this could easily have been a five-spork item.

To be honest a little welcome as I walked in the door wouldn't have hurt matters, either.

Taco Bell Beefy Crunch Burrito

Taco Bell may have created the eighth wonder of the processed food world when it placed the Beefy Crunch Burrito on its menu. A tortilla joins ground beef, rice, nacho cheese, sour cream and Flamin' Hot Fritos to create one of the biggest "Are you serious?" food's I've seen behind the fast-food counter.

That's right, foodies. Taco Bell's ground beef, the composition of which has been questioned recently by a lawsuit -- the suit says the meat is composed of only 35% beef, while The Bell's CEO claims that number is 88% -- wasn't enough processed fodder for this bad-boy burrito. Fritos corn chips, which have a label reading like the glossary of a collegiate chemistry textbook, had to be thrown on top.

To be fair, Fritos do contain corn, according to the label. But anyone who's tasted them knows they aren't exactly fresh off the cob. This combination sounds like it could be something straight out of a science fiction novel: more plastic than organic. So how did this conglomeration of prepackaged, processed gobbledygook taste to the mouth?

Pretty darn good, actually. While I can't vouch for whether it pickled my intestines, it tickled my taste buds in pleasing ways.

The rice, sour cream, beef and cheese all mesh in a tried-and-true combination of salty flavor that runs through much of Taco Bell's food. And the Fritos add just about the perfect amount of texture.

Don't get me wrong -- they aren't crunchy. All that gooey cheese and soft sour cream quickly saturates the Fritos, neutralizing their natural (?) crunch. Even so, they retain a hint of crispness that's satisfying enough to bite into but not hard enough to pierce your gums. That's a major plus. There's nothing worse than a stray shard of tortilla or taco shell digging itself haphazardly between your teeth as you chomp on your Taco Bell.

The Fritos come up a little shorter in the spicy department. Flamin' Hot may be their prefix, but fiery spice ain't the name of their game. I've tasted hotter oyster crackers. Even so, they added a hint of flavor to the meal.

Once all the pros and cons are processed, the Taco Bell Beefy Crunch Burrito wraps up a very solid three-and-a-half sporks out of five. I could have used a little more spice to live up to the name, and this concoction is screaming for a stray chunk of lettuce or two to add an organic touch. In the end, though, who cares if it's grown in the ground or molded in a factory? Does it matter whether the beef is actually made of cows? This tastes like a winner.

Two new sauces at Taco Bell

My most recent trip to Taco Bell was packed with more surprises than a Cracker Jack box. You've all no doubt read Sunday's review of the XXL Chalupa, which shocked with its scale-tipping mass and misplaced low-fat sour cream.

What I didn't include in that post was a noteworthy piece of condiment news creeping onto a Taco Bell counter near you. The Bell recently rolled out two new "Border Salsa" sauces: Fire Roasted and Verde.

The new ketchup-packeted sauces join the faithful standbys of Mild, Hot and Fire to bump Taco Bell's salsa selection to five. And they stand out from their more seasoned brethren in that they're not merely different levels of hot sauce.

No, Verde and Fire Roasted Border Salsas squirt out their own unique flavors. Here's a rundown:

Fire Roasted largely lives up to its name, although I'd have named it "Campfire" or something to tip foodies off to the fact that it tastes more like smoke and less like sun-dried tomato. The sauce adds a surprisingly rich tone to Taco Bell fare and lingers on the tongue long after a bite. You're not going to confuse Fire Roasted sauce with the taste of painstakingly smoked salmon fresh off wood chips -- but you shouldn't expect that from Taco Bell anyway.

My biggest problem with the Fire Roasted sauce is that a little bit goes a long way. It has the same injected-with-smoke-flavor quality as certain brands of beef jerky, and that can be overpowering in anything but single-pack quantities.

Verde, on the other hand, is not aptly named. It hardly resembles its green chili sauce namesake and reminded me of a watery sweet and sour sauce.

That's not an entirely bad thing, mind you. While sweet and sour sauce and Taco Bell might not be the most obvious pairing, they marry fairly well in an odd-couple sort of way. Sweet and sour affectionados won't be casting aside chicken nuggets any time soon, but it's an interesting change-up that's odd enough to work. I'd say the Verde sauce is so wide left of the mark that it successfully hits an entirely different target.

The real question today is whether you're going to stuff your to-go bag with either of these two new sauces in lieu of the classic Mild, Hot and Fire packets. And the answer is: probably not.

Instead the sauces should be used to play off the pedestrian hot-sauce world of Taco Bell salsa. Fire Roasted screams for limited-application use to add richness to food. Verde is the obvious choice when you're feeling a little wacky.

In other words, the new sauces offer variety -- the spice of life.

Living large with Taco Bell's XXL Chalupa

It's been a while since the critique has sampled anything from Taco Bell -- a restaurant that is typically a mainstay of my culinary considerations. Other foods distracted with peppers, all-you-can-eat promotions and chocolaty coatings, leading this blog away from its most stalwart subject.

The return to The Bell had to be big. Extra big. Extra, extra big. You could say I wanted it to be XXL.

And wouldn't you know it? Taco Bell rolled out just the concoction to mark the occasion. They're calling it the XXL Chalupa. It's a jumbo shell nestling lettuce, salsa, cheeses and sour cream on top of your choice of meat.

When ordering I was pleasantly surprised to find I could choose between ground beef, chicken and steak. Taco Bell's promotional material has focused only on the ground beef option. Naturally I chose to go with chicken -- I recommend avoiding taco beef whenever possible. You never know exactly what's in there.

One other noteworthy ingredient in the XXL Chalupa is low-fat sour cream. I'll pause for a moment to let you absorb the fact that the restaurant is including low-fat sour cream on a dish whose calling card is over-the-top size. The chalupa is 650 calories, for Jillean Michaels' sake! Putting on low-fat sour cream is like skipping the 10-spoke alloy wheels on your $185,300 Mercedes SLS AMG because you don't want to spend the extra $2,400. When you're that far in the hole, why not finish digging the last couple of shovelfuls and complete the job?

Plus, I watched as the Taco Bell workers built my Chalupa behind the counter. The low-fat sour cream was shot out of a dispenser that looked like a jumbo caulk cannon. The dispenser was the size of a small boar, and probably contained enough fat to give Shiva Rea's entire yoga class a heart attack.

All that aside, I have to admit I'm impressed with the size of the XXL Chalupa. Taco Bell usually gives you pretty decent bang for your buck -- the $5 Box comes to mind -- but even so the XXL Chalupa is shockingly large. I needed both hands to hold it.

The high point of the dish is by far its shell, which is soft, moist and holds its shape so the Chalupa doesn't fall to pieces if you have to set it down. That's a good thing, because you'd practically have to be Mr. Universe to not get tired while holding this load of a meal.

The chicken is tasty, as are all the rest of the fixins', which are piled on so high that I wished I had an extra hinge on my jaw to take bites. I found it was helpful to eat from the top of the chalupa down, which minimized spilled lettuce and cheese.

I can tell you the chalupa weighed down my stomach with all that food. It also left my wallet a little lighter than I'd like. I paid more than $3 -- over a buck for every letter in the "XXL."

That price is really the only downside to the XXL Chalupa. And while I find it very hard to justify spending more than $2.00 on any one item from Taco Bell, this is the item to buy if you're going to do it. Therefore I can give the chalupa four sporks out of five.

Actually, you might want to think about bringing four sporks to eat it. The chalupa is that big. That extra, extra big.

Shrimp at Taco Bell?

Never have I been so surprised at Taco Bell as the day I saw the words "Pacific Shrimp" on the menu.

Specifically, "Pacific Shrimp Taco." It's a soft tortilla bearing six shrimp, lettuce, salsa and the Bell's infamous "Avocado Ranch Sauce."

At first thought the shrimp taco seems downright dangerous. Eat a bottom-dwelling crustacean from a fast-food joint previously called out for its poor-quality beef? Sounds risky.

I can't evaluate any health concerns related to the marine decapods, but I can tell you the Pacific Shrimp Taco is more appetizing than expected. It's by no means the best bang for your buck on The Bell's menu, yet it could provide a fairly tasty change of pace for all you Lent-observing Friday Taco Bell frequenters.

The salsa, tortilla, lettuce and sauce are all pretty standard. Let's skip right to the shrimp, the heart of the meal. They're about as rubbery as you'd expect. Less so than chewing gum but more so than fresh crustaceans.

Our tiny aquatic meat is saved, fortunately, by a shockingly tasty flavor. Taco Bell says they're "marinated in a mix of spices," whatever that means. My translation is that the shrimp pack a low heat that builds steadily as you eat your taco.

They aren't overly fishy, either. Everyone's worst cheap-fish nightmare is that it will cause seafood-burps all day. I'm proud to report my afternoon was free of tuna-tasting belches.

The shrimp are a little pricey, however. I paid nearly $3 for my Pacific Shrimp Taco, a bit steep considering its five-bite size. Perhaps Taco Bell should consider a price-saving "Atlantic Shrimp Taco" for its East Coast patrons.

When it came time to sink or swim, the shrimp taco manages to stay afloat with three sporks out of five. Tenderize the shrimp a little and cut down on the amount folks have to shell out for one, and this shrimp/spice combination would be a winning cocktail.

NBA $5 Buck Box at Taco Bell

If the title of this post didn't make you think of Charles Barkley it's time to visit American pop culture and watch the YouTube video below. Sir Charles' ode to Taco Bell's big box is the best commercial from this year's Super Bowl and possibly the best jingle of the last five years.

Actually you should watch the video even if "$5 Box" does make you think of Sir Charles rhyming away. The former NBA player reminds me of Sugar Bear from Golden Crisp -- you can't get enough.



Now that we're finished staring at embedded videos and lavishing praise on advertising honchos, we can move on to the review of Taco Bell's NBA $5 Buck Box. We'll start with the obvious: the name.

The words "Five-Buck Box" jump from Charles Barkley's mouth so easily they nearly make you forget the bizarrely lengthy and redundant "NBA $5 Buck Big Box" stamped on the side of each cardboard container. Nearly.

I know I've been heavy-handed on product names recently, so I'll make this short. The box should be called either an "NBA $5 Box" or an "NBA 5 Buck Box," not an "NBA $5 Buck Big Box." As it's currently written you would read the the name aloud as the "NBA Five-Dollar Buck Big Box." That sounds like you purchased a $5 mail-order deer hunting kit for basketball players.

For the rest of this post I'll refer to it as the "Five-Buck Box" because that's what Sir Charles calls it in the commercial. And I'm sure Sir Charles knows best.

Anyway, I was a little disappointed in my Five-Buck box. Not because of the food, which includes a Cheesy Gordita Crunch (to munch), a Burrito Supreme, a Crunchy Taco, Cinnamon Twists and a drink. Because of the cardboard. I didn't get any.


I ordered my Five-Buck Box to go, and Taco Bell decided to stuff my items in a bag without the advertised cardboard. The packaging was all wrong, even if the price was right.

It slightly flattened my Burrito Supreme and caused my Cinnamon Twists to spill. I even believe my lack of a box led me to have a definite inability blocking shots on guys with dreadlocks.

On another note, I was allowed to order either a Cheesy Gordita Crunch to munch or a Volcano Taco (to mock-o?). Options are always nice, but anyone who's read my reviews of the Cheesy Gordita Crunch and Volcano Taco knows there's no choice between the two. The Volcano Taco merely simmers while the Cheesy Gordita Crunch explodes in wondrous flavor.

None of the products in the Five-Buck Box are new, which is not necessarily a bad thing. The Crunchy Taco does its just-a-little-too-small thing, crunching away for a few bites. Cinnamon Twists, similar to pork rinds doused in sugar, are wonderfully guilt-inducingly tasty. And even when flattened the Burrito Supreme packs enough re-fried beans to be satisfying.

The products in the Five-Buck Box are lots and lots and make up a good deal. Be warned, though, it's a lot of Taco Bell.

Regulars at the chain know just one Burrito Supreme can lead to an afternoon nursing an uncomfortable tummy. The Five-Buck Box has potential to cause the mother of all Taco Bellyaches.

Since I received my Five-Buck Box in a bag I have no choice but to rate the experience at only two sporks. I had Charles Barkley's jingle in my head the entire time I ate, making matters worse. "The Five-Buck Bag, it rocks, it rocks" does not rhyme.

I tried to make up my own "Five-Buck Bag" version, but it just isn't the same:

The Five-Buck Bag, it lags, it lags
It lags for a meal since the plastic sags
It lags for a hag, it lags for a JAG
It lags tagging nags while I try not to gag

It would easily rock if it came in a box
But Taco Bell hoards cardboard like Fort Knox

The 5 Buck Bag, it lags, it lags
It sure does lag since it's in a bag

Taco Bell Black Jack Taco

Taco Bell's Black Jack Taco isn't much of a gamble. Sure its black shell gives it spades full of style, but the Bell hasn't exactly thrown a new set of cards into the deck with this one.

See, it tastes a lot like a regular Taco Bell Taco. Because it largely is a regular Taco Bell Taco. A taco shell, seasoned beef, lettuce and shredded cheese all play out the way you expect. Even the black shell is nothing but a bluff. It tastes just like a regular taco shell.

Taco Bell does have an ace in the hole, however -- pepper jack sauce, which gives it a little smack and tells your taste buds this is not a regular taco. The pepper jack sauce is fit for a king.

Unfortunately the Bell fails to slather enough on there. Some more sauce would have left this a delicacy flush with flavor. As it stands the Black Jack Taco is a trap hand that looks pretty then fails to deliver anything special.

Which is really the problem in an otherwise solid meal. The taco costs 89 cents, so you aren't pushing your wallet all in to buy one. And anyone who likes regular Taco Bell Tacos will find this a pleasant take on a long-successful formula.

It's just a shame the Bell couldn't have bet a little more here. Make this a truly black meal by adding black beans and black rice and pour on more sauce, and I'd be spilling some ink in favor of this thing. Even if the flavor turned out to be a little too much it would be better to go bust than play too close to the vest.

As it is the Bell folds in a mediocre three sporks out of five.

Chipotle!

Recently I headed to Chipotle Mexican Grill, which recently made its way into the Harrisburg area with a new restaurant. A few friends talked it up to me and I was psyched to try it.

My love for Mexican food is well-chronicled, as is my appreciation for order-your-own-burritos-in-a-cafeteria-style-line Mexican restaurants. (Moe's anyone?) So going to Chipotle, a Mexican restaurant of the aforementioned style that emphasizes natural, organic ingredients, was a no-brainier.

Ordering didn't take much of a brain, either. I wanted a burrito, the signature dish of the customizable Mexican food genre. It got a little more complicated when I had to choose between chicken, beef, pork or vegetarian and decide between black and pinto beans, but it's nothing I haven't done at other restaurants -- chicken and pinto beans for me.

To say Chipotle stuffed my burrito is a massive understatement. It was about to burst, there was such a slew of rice, beans and meat packed in there. And it was all delicious.

The white rice was great, the chicken had a nice juicy flavor and a spoonful of sour cream topped things off. Defining the whole burrito experience was the salsa, though.

I chose Chipotle's hottest salsa in my burrito, and it had a good bit of kick to it. Saying it was very hot would be a stretch, but it rose above the heat in most restaurant burritos I've had.

That hot salsa also worked out well on my side of tortilla chips. Working out less well was the fact that chips weren't included in my meal. They were extra. By the time all was said and done, I paid a little over $10 for a drink, massive burrito, chips and salsa.

In reality that isn't too terrible of a price, considering the overwhelming amount of food it bought. I could have easily done without the chips and still walked away full. But who wants to eat just a burrito? No, you have to have chips to go along with your main course.

Price was the main drawback to my Chipotle experience. That and the bursting feeling in my overloaded stomach as I walked away. They combine to pull down what would be an overloaded five spork score.

Instead I talked myself down and Chipotle will have to settle for a less-than massive four sporks out of five.

Taco Bell's Volcano Nachos

Taco Bell should pepper all of its meals with jalapenos.

As a general rule, the zesty peppers make everything better. I've been privately extolling their value on subs for a while now (They're particularly good on Subway's Spicy Italian) but have never witnessed them on a Taco Bell creation.

That changed with the Volcano Nachos. They have a bunch of jalapenos, and it's to their benefit.

Loyal readers will remember the lukewarm reception I gave the disappointingly bland Volcano Taco last year. You'll also remember the thrust of my Furlough Friday feature highlighting Triple Layer Nachos -- good, but not overwhelmingly filling or shockingly tasty. Nothing in my experiences with those dishes led me to believe that combining them would result in anything more than continued mediocrity.

That's because they didn't have jalapenos. The Volcano Nachos, which Taco Bell claims have some sort of "lava sauce" on them, wouldn't be spicy without the peppers. Yet because of the peppers, they pack a decent amount of zing. Not enough to force you to take a drink, but enough to make you do a double take and check to make sure you really are eating Taco Bell.

Aside from the peppers, the nachos are also very filling. They have a bit of seasoned beef, some nacho cheese, tortilla strips, a dollop of sour cream and a liberal amount of refried beans. Plus there are plenty of them in Taco Bell's little plastic tray.

My only real criticism of them is that they don't possess the constitution to be buried under so many layers of saturating food. By the time I'd reached the bottom layers of my nachos they were flat out soggy. Let me tell you, it's impossible to dip up any refried beans with a limp nacho chip.

So grab a fork and enjoy all the soggy heat Volcano Nachos have to offer. Four sporks out of five and chalk the good rating up to the peppers.

Furlough Friday: Recycling Taco Bell's Grilled Chicken Burrito

Welcome all to Furlough Friday, the biweekly money saving sensation. Today's edition is the second to last in the summer series, so enjoy! Live from Pennsylvania ... it's Furlough Friday!

Here at Furlough Friday we're all about stretching your money as far as it can go. We're also about stretching every other resource as far as it can go. In light of that, it's time for a re-review of Taco Bell's Grilled Chicken Burrito.

You may recall June's review of the burrito and its avocado ranch sauce. The burrito I ate, which was made with plain white rice, snatched four sporks out of five. With some research I've learned Grilled Chicken Burritos typically have Taco Bell's tried-and-true seasoned rice, so it seems I rated a one-off.

On my return visit I was served a normal Grilled Chicken Burrito complete with avocado ranch sauce, some chicken strips and the seasoned rice. And it costs just 89 cents, making it perfect for Furlough Friday and saving me the extra dollar I would have had to spend reviewing another item for this feature. (Whew!)

Sadly, the burrito is just not as good with seasoned rice. The extra flavoring covers up the avocado ranch sauce, which only adds a trace of zest in this iteration. It also makes the burrito less unique among Taco Bell's lineup -- it starts to blend in to the tune of three sporks out of five.

It blends in because The Bell recombines a bunch of its ingredients to form seemingly new products. You get the same rice in all burritos, and the beans in some burritos are the same as the ones on your nachos.

And so the re-usal goes on and on, which brings us back to the point of this Furlough Friday: recycling. Because when you're out of work, you have to use everything you can as many ways as you can.

Taco Bell's Chicken burrito with avocado ranch sauce

Avocado ranch sauce.

What could be more representative of Taco Bell? The Americanized-Mexican food is perfectly reflected in a sauce that blends the main ingredient in guacamole with good ‘ol ranch dressing.

So in concept the Bell’s new chicken burrito, which features this avocado ranch sauce, should be a microcosm of the restaurant. You’d expect it to be cheap, filling, relatively low-quality and largely satisfying.

You’d be right in all of those respects. And yet I can guarantee this burrito isn’t anything like you expected.

No, it’s not because of the avocado ranch sauce. We’ll come to that later, but it’s not really surprising in flavor or quantity.

No, it’s not the chicken. It’s low on cluckin’ flavor but soars above imitation-chicken-tofu texture – letting it be rewarding.

And no, it’s not the burrito. The grilled chicken burrito is wrapped in the same thing as every other burrito on the menu.

The difference is the rice.

Think of Taco Bell rice. It’s that reddish/brownish seasoned stuff that tastes pretty good going down but still leaves you with a stomach cramp an hour later. You won’t get any of that here.

Instead the Bell served me a heap of white rice. Read that again: Taco Bell has placed plain white rice in a burrito. And it’s great.

Well, the quality of the rice isn’t great. But there’s nothing quite like white rice to mix well with other flavors. It provides an important backdrop and unique texture that just seems to play well off of meats and sauces. This chicken is no exception.

Neither is the avocado ranch sauce. It leans more toward the ranch side of things (sorry guacamole lovers, but you should have known better and just shelled out for Moe’s) which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. At very least it keeps the grilled chicken burrito a uniform pallid color.

And for 89 cents, you can’t beg too much from your sauces. Especially when the rice doesn’t look like it came out of a can.

The slightly misleading nature of the sauce does keep us from approaching five spork territory. But the grilled chicken burrito with avocado ranch sauce does net four sporks out of five – and that’s pretty rice territory, if you ask me.

Note: After eating the burrito and taking detailed notes on it, I noticed the chicken burritos pictured on Tacobell.com clearly contain seasoned rice. I've continued with the review of the meal as I ate it, but will make a follow-up visit in the near future to determine whether my sample was a freak of Taco Bell nature or the norm.

Furlough Friday: Triple Layer Nachos

Welcome back to the biweekly feature for those of you seeking to hand out resumes but not cash! Live from Pennsylvania, it's Furlough Friday!

Seventy-nine cents. That's smaller than pocket change. It's under-one-cushion-of-the-couch change. It's one cupholder-in-the-car-as-I-approach-the-toll-booth change.

I can't even buy a Twix at work without adding six pennies to 79 cents. (On Furlough Friday I can't buy a Twix at work at all, actually. Or anything at work, for that matter.) In spite of all that, Taco Bell is offering a generous portion of nachos for your three quarters and four pennies.

By "generous" I mean generous considering the price. The CD-sized heap of nachos won't last you through the first five minutes of, say, the baseball game you smuggled them into with a fake pregnant belly, but they will take the edge off your hunger.

And when you're furloughed or unemployed or seeking full-time employment instead of your current part-time work, taking the edge off your hunger is all you really hope for. Hunger never really goes away, even when you just ate a carton of ice cream while staring hopelessly at "General Hospital" in the middle of the afternoon, does it?

So take your stack of nachos that Taco Bell layered with refried beans, cheese and hot sauce and appreciate this novel fact: Hot sauce has apparently become a nacho layer in our stumbling employment market. Meaning you can treat it as a side dish.

In other words 79 cent Triple Layer Nachos legitimize a dinner consisting of lettuce and hot sauce. Perfect for Furlough Friday or staying out of a Hooverville.

All dressed up: The Bacon Cheddar Gordita Crunch

As you might know, I'm a big fan of the Cheesy Gordita Crunch from Taco Bell. But the chain had virtually pulled them from the menu -- it was no longer listed on the big board, although you could usually get one if you asked for it.

Last night I was delighted to find it back in a prominent place on the menu. There was just one twist. The Cheesy Gordita Crunch listed isn't your father's Cheesy Gordita Crunch.

It was the new Bacon Cheddar Gordita Crunch.

The basic idea is still the same. It's a beef taco wrapped in a gordita with a liberal amount of melted and shredded cheese. But now there are bacon bits between the taco shell and the gordita, and some new cheddar sauce is slathered on top of Taco Bell's ground beef.

The Bell has always served an "Americanized Mexican" food. The old 1/2 Pound Beef and Potato Burrito was a good example of that -- the potato chunks gave it a lot of stateside flavor. But the bacon takes that to a whole new level.

It takes the Cheesy Gordita Crunch to a new level, too. I wasn't expecting the bacon to taste as good as it did since its quality isn't the highest. In fact, it's a little soggy. But those bacon bits managed to blend seamlessly with that cheap beef and salty cheddar.

The combination was so good that I didn't feel too bad spending a whopping $2.49 for a Taco Bell item. Typically there's no reason to stray from the "Why Pay More" value menu, but this is an exception. The regular Cheesy Gordita Crunch was always reason enough to shell out a little more, but the dressed up version is absolutely worth it.

Of course, it would be better off if it was on the value menu. But I guess you can't get a newly renovated item at the prices your father remembers. Four sporks out of five.

Erupting in mediocrity

It's got a pink taco shell! That means it has to be spicy! ... Right?

... Well ... no.

The pink taco shell, of course, adorns Taco Bell's latest cheap creation, the Volcano Taco. And it certainly makes the taco stand out from the crowd. You don't see many pink tacos.

At least you didn't see many pink tacos a few months ago. Now you can see a bunch when you head to a food court at the mall or take a peek in the window of your neighborhood Taco Bell.

That's not because the volcano tacos are particularly spicy. It's probably because they're cheap -- 89 cents to be exact. And when you don't have to pay a premium for a novelty taco shell, it's bound to be a good deal.

Aside from the peculiar pigment, the only real difference between a Volcano Taco and a regular Taco Bell taco is what Taco Bell calls "cheesy lava sauce." If we're talking flavor, it's neither cheesy nor lava-like. If we're talking cool factor, then the lava sauce is most definately cheesy. Lava sauce on a Volcano Taco -- just throw in some "basaltic vinaigrette" for an explosive good time.

But the taco isn't necessarily bad. That cheesy sauce might have a corny name, but it does add a nice texture and moisture to the snack. Taco Bell tacos typically provide a tasty set of mouthfuls for a low price, and this one is no different.

It's just not spicy. And for something that's called a "Volcano Taco," that can be a sizable fault.

Three sporks out of five.

A Better Burrito

Don't panic, but Taco Bell changed the value menu.

Well, a few seconds of panic might be allowed. The value menu was just about divine, after all. But take a moment to study the new value menu, and that intense pressure sitting on your lungs will evaporate. There are only nine items on it, and they're priced at 79 cents, 89 cents or 99 cents. It's cheap and simple.

Feel free to grumble about sacrificing the larger variety and better name of the old "Big Bell" value menu for the fake excitement of the newly named "Why Pay More!" offering. But there is one gem that makes the change worthwhile: The 89 Cent Cheesy Double Beef Burrito.

Normally Taco Bell beef is cause for an abundance of stomach cramps. For whatever reason, the double beef burrito is immune to the problem. Maybe the slathering of Velveeta cheese coats the abrasive molecules in the beef and passes them safely through the small intestine.

And it tastes great. There is just enough zest in the beef, cheese and seasoned rice that it doesn't taste like a ground-up cheeseburger. And it's not so much that you think it's been drizzled in hot sauce, either.

At 89 cents, these beg to be bought in pairs or even sets of three. One burrito makes a good cheap snack and two or three can be an economical and filling dinner.

There is one piece of beef where the beef is concerned, however. While the burrito has a pretty good amount of meat in it, I don't know that there is enough to justify a "double" designation. Double means two hamburger patties in one bun. Double means so much caffeine you can barely handle your espresso. This burrito is long and skinny. It's more of a "Cheesy Extra Beef Burrito" than a double.

It's still worth swinging by The Bell to try out the new menu. The 89 Cent Double Beef Burrito gets four sporks out of five -- just don't panic if you have to wait in line.

Melted Morphology

"Misnomer ... Noun ... A use of a wrong or inappropriate name."

That's what Merriam-Webster says on m-w.com. It's also a good definition of Taco Bell's new Cheesy Beefy Melt.

It might seem impossible to mislabel something with two adjectives in its name. Taco Bell's latest addition to the menu might as well be a blueprint on how to do just that.

Start by stressing the fact that your food item is cheesy, but don't make it much cheesier than other items on the menu. Despite the fact that the commercials for this thing may set an American record for the amount of stringy cheese hanging out of peoples' mouths within a 30-second time slot, the melt doesn't taste any cheesier than, say, a Cheesy Gordita Crunch or Cheesy Fiesta Potatoes. In fact, the latter two items probably have a more predominantly cheesy flavor.

Next, feature "beef" in the name, but allow that beef to be overpowered by the taste of your seasoned rice. It rhymes true that rice is nice, but the grain should not be the dominant texture and flavor in a Cheesy Beefy Melt.

Finally, don't bother to differentiate this "melt" from any other food on the menu involving cheese. It wasn't served any warmer than some of The Bell's other tepid offerings, and the cheese just blended in with the other ingredients like normal Taco Bell fare. There was no unique interaction of tastes -- no cheese playing off beef, no special seasonings, nothing. The word "melt" seems to have been used because the marketing mongols needed a word that sounded different from the other ones on the drive-through board.

And aside from the price, the Cheesy Beefy Melt does only sound different from any of Taco Bell's other offerings. It's even wrapped in one of their basic flour tortillas. There is virtually no taste difference, but you will spork out just over three bucks for one.

If I'm going to spend that much cash on one item at Taco Bell, I at least want to eat something that's named accurately. Two out of five sporks.

Horay for Mole!

What will you like at Qdoba?

That question is plastered all over the cups, wrappers, and napkins at the Mexican chain. I managed to answer that question the first time I ate there. At Qdoba, I like the Chicken Mole Burrito.

This savory slice of the Southwest is basically, an exceptionally large burrito stuffed with rice, chicken, Mole sauce, sour cream, and black beans or pinto beans. Personally, I chose to skip the beans because I was stalked out from walking around Washington D.C. for several hours before dropping into Qdoba.

The eatery desecribes Mole (pronounced Moh-lay) as a "rich and slightly spicy" sauce, and it's pretty accurate. While the brownish sauce didn't set my mouth on fire, it did have a little zing, and it was rich enough to fill my stomach relatively quickly.

I know that I liked something at Qdoba, but I really have to take exception to the slogan plastered all over their paper products. At first read, it appears to be relatively simple: "What will you like at Qdoba" seems to suggest plentiful offerings coupled with the certainty that you will like something. But, change the emphasis on the sentence, and the appeal of that phrase evaporates.

"What will you like at Qdoba?" Say it out loud. Now you're wondering whether you will like anything.

"What will you like at Qdoba?" Now the phrase is skeptical.

"What will you like at Qdoba?" With this emphasis, you know you'll feel strongly about something, but you might just end up hating it.

Hopefully nobody will read the slogan with anything but the intended emphasis. It would be a shame if anyone skipped out on a tasty meal because of a reading error. I found the Chicken Mole Burrito to be just too tasty to ignore -- four sporks out of five. Just remember to keep the question "What will you like at Qdoba?" in your head.

Taco Bell: Driving Beef into Quesadillas

The Quesadilla is a tremendous concept. Toss assorted cheeses in a soft tortilla and add some meat if it suits your fancy. After a few minutes on a hot metal surface you have a gooey, cheesy source of taste-bud pleasure. Taco Bell has been advertising a new Extreme Cheese and Beef Quesadilla, so I swung through the drive-thru of my local franchise in hopes of tickling their fancy.

The Quesadilla itself is as sloppy and tasty as you would expect from Taco Bell's latest invention. The beef is the messy variety that can be found in every beef taco, gordita, and nacho salad at The Bell. There is a slew of cheeses -- I thought I detected some of The Bell's standard shredded yellow cheese along with some of the creamy Velveeta-style, although it was all melted together in an indistinguishable colloid-like mass.

This concoction is pretty large, and dirt cheap -- $1.29 to be exact. Every item on the Taco Bell value menu is a great deal, but the addition of this much beef and cheese slushed together for this low price is something special. Rest assured, although I compared the price to dirt, the actual meal did nothing to invoke thoughts of Taco Bell's recent flirtations with violations of the health code. I didn't see any evidence of chives or e.coli. In fact, the flavors blend well, and I was spared the stomach-ache that I always anticipate as penance for eating at The Bell.

There are a few drawbacks to this particular Quesadilla. The aforementioned melted cheese mixes with ground beef to become a virtual torrent of mess. Even though I ordered at the drive-thru window, I chose to wait until I arrived home to unwrap my meal. If I had tried to eat while driving, I probably would have ended up shampooing the carpet of my car all weekend in order to keep myself from thinking of the annoying Taco Bell jingle every time I stepped into my car and caught the scent of the cheese/beef mixture that would have splashed everywhere. Eat this at a table. It is not automobile food.

Actually, my entire drive-thru experience seemed determined to persuade me that Taco Bell and cars do not mix. I pulled into a line that was several cars long at 9:10 p.m. on a Friday night, just after I finished work. I pulled out of the drive-thru window with two items at 9:23.

That is quite a bit of time to spend sitting in line. The cars ahead of me had substantially larger orders than my own, but I was under the distinct impression that the staff at The Bell was in no rush to prepare my meal in a timely fashion. While I waited, my car idled, wasting both time and gas.

I don't typically use the drive-thru because going into the restaurant is just as fast, if not faster. Burning $3-a-gallon gas and playing "guess-what-this-is-doing-to-the-Ford-F-15o-sitting-in-front-of-me" did not hold my attention for long. I was left to wonder if I was so lazy that I did not mind effectively increasing the price of a Quesadilla by burning gas while I waited for my order to be filled.

That kind of thought doesn't sit well on an empty stomach, especially when you realize the meal you are ordering is too sloppy to eat in the car, thereby extending the amount of time you have to wait before eating. I ended up swearing off drive-thrus while swearing at myself for wasting time and money. It really hurt a very solid Quesadilla.

And solid is a good way to describe the Extreme Cheese and Beef Quesidilla. Solid use of cheese and solid use of beef makes for nothing less than a solid flavor combination. Taco Bell's nomenclature of "Extreme Cheese and Beef Quesidalla" had me geared up for something a little more colorful, but I ended up finding familiar ingredients mixed in a slightly unfamiliar way. The meal's lack of originality and inherent messiness are its weakest points, but those get outweighed by good taste and a splendid price. It earned four sporks out of five, so I recommend trying one next time you want to eat at The Bell.

Just do yourself a favor, and skip the drive-thru.

Crunchwraps and Cheesy Gorditas

Due to extenuating circumstances, two months have passed since my last scintillating food review. Despite the long period of time that has passed between my writings, I have not stopped consuming a variety of food from restaurants of all different sorts.

Of all the different treats which touched my tongue over this sixty day period, one strikingly unique sensation stands out in my mind. It has gained distinction from the blur of French fries, breakfast sandwiches, soups, drinks, and main courses that have recently made up my culinary life. This food, which I sampled roughly a week after my last post, is the Taco Bell Crunchwrap supreme.

It may seem doubtful that I would have the memory to review a food which I sampled eight weeks ago. A pallet can be quickly cleaned by many a taste, making such a long period seem insurmountable in the fickle worlds of flavor memory.

I assure you, however, that I remember quite easily the Crunchwrap. I can actually give an adequate picture of the concoction by likening it to a Cheesy Gordita Crunch in disguise. The only real difference between the two offerings is the shape and price. The Crunchwrap supreme is flat and hexagonal in shape where the CGC is shaped like a typical taco. The new menu item also has a different pricing than the older offering.

Unlike the CGC, the Crunchwrap is completely enclosed by a soft shell. This seal means that there is no way for the innards of the concoction to squirt out of the opposite end from that which you are biting. One of my only complains about the Cheesy Gordita Crunch was that it was nearly impossible to avoid ending up with a large pile of sloppy ground beef, shredded lettuce, and cheese sauce on your lap when biting into its cheesy goodness. The engineers at the Bell appear to have heard the complaints of Cheesy Gordita Crunch enthusiasts and addressed them. The workers in the customer service department at Taco Bell certainly deserve kudos for properly relaying complaints.

Other than the improvement of a closed eating area, there is little to write about the Crunchwrap’s tastes that cannot be said about the Cheesy Gordita Crunch. It has the same cheese sauce as the CGC, the same “seasoned” beef, the same lettuce, and approximately the same shells. I even recommend that you request no tomatoes for a more pleasant eating experience in the same way I recommend no tomatoes for the CGC. Despite the similarities, though, the Crunchwrap supreme can extract a substantially larger toll on the wallet than its older sibling.

Where the Cheesy Gordita Crunch can vary in price from slightly over a dollar to over two dollars, the Crunchwrap supreme seems to be entrenched at a price of over two dollars. This is a shame, considering the concoction is not made up of much more food than the Cheesy Gordita Crunch.

It also seems that the good people at Taco Bell may be running out of new ideas. In the past, they have teased the taste buds with new and exciting flavors, but not we are offered a repackaging of old tastes and told it is all new. I am slightly concerned that this may indicate laziness on the part of the Taco Bell developmental staff. However, I am unable to complain due to the fact that I believe the Crunchwrap Supreme to be an improvement upon one of my favorite foods. If the Bell wishes to offer new and improved ways to enjoy old favorites, I will not complain.

I will however take issue with such a strategy if it constitutes a substantial hike in prices or takes the place of innovation. Mountain Dew Baja Blast and Beef & Potato Burritos were just two exciting instances of Taco Bell’s willingness to be daring. It would be a shame to see that uniqueness lost.

In the end, my slight concerns about price and the future of the Taco Bell menu barely keep the Crunchwrap Supreme from achieving an unbelievable rating of five sporks. These drawbacks are just enough to make the great cheesy taste and easy delivery of the new “wrapped” package drop to a still amazing rating of four and a half sporks out of a possible five.