BIG AZ Burger Beef Charbroil with Cheese on a Bun

I'd be lying if I didn't admit that in some dark corner of my mind I actually thought I might like this sandwich. After all, it quite resembled the lone sandwich I gave a truly good review to, The Big A Angus Charbroil. The patty of beef was absolutely massive, dwarfing the bun that rode below and above it. My keen eye observed a nice looking slice of cheese, nearly hidden below the hood of the bun. Nice looking, for a slice of highly processed cheese that is.

If my spirits were high at first, reality was about offer me the first of several severe bitch slaps to bring me back down to earth. I placed the sandwich in the microwave and left for a moment to refill my cup with some water. When I returned I was struck by an awful smell. It conjured images of beef being boiled in water.

No ... wait.

It conjured images of the brown sludge that sticks to the side of a pot full of water with beef boiling inside. Strangely, when I opened the microwave to remove the sandwich (yes I was still willing to try it, but my resolve was nowhere near as strong) a wave succulent smelling juicy beef aroma washed over me. No, I'm not kidding. It smelled pretty damn good. I lowered my face toward the opening of the sandwich's wrapper. It didn't smell as good, but it still seemed that it had pretty good potential to at the very least come close the Angus.

Skip to a minute or two later and my unwrapping of the sandwich. I could smell the sugary bun. The cheese had exploded in all directions like so much projectile vomit. I stuck a hand in to pry it from the wrapper and was treated to a bun that was thoroughly soaked with grease and cheese. It was like touching a sponge that had been left in a vat of lard. I pulled my hand away.

It felt pretty disgusting.

Knowing I must press on, I eventually worked it free from the wrapper. Cheese dripped from one corner, hardened, and formed a stalactite/mite-like column from the patty to the napkin it sat upon. The familiar feeling of not wanting to eat the sandwich nudged me. Of course I knew I would, but I had to take a moment to collect myself and work up the courage.

Finally, I took a bite, grimacing as the lower half of the bun coated my palm with grease and cheese. Ugh! Once again, totally unseasoned meatloaf was the first thing I thought of, contrasted by sesame seeds that were a near a state of petrifaction. "Hey, YOU try spending the last days of YOUR existence being this close to the BIG AZ Burger," those seeds would surely respond.

Before I could even force myself to swallow, I began an inner debate. How many bites were fair to limit myself to taking? I knew I didn't want any more, but I did want to give the sandwich a fair shot. Against my better judgment I settled on 3. I took another bite, and on the first chew I was treated to a delicious and juicy bite of burger. But that's "bite" as in singular, not plural. That's because after chewing just once my jaw was jarred by a large chunk of bone or tendon or something. My hand instantly shot out for the nearest napkin, edge of my shirt or even jacket, anything capable of holding a mouthful of half chewed Big Az Burger with Cheese on a Bun.

Once rid of the meddlesome burger did I continue on and go for that third bite I promised myself? Fuck no. If there's anything that really grosses me out its bones or gristle in food where it doesn't belong: Ribs? That's Fine. Chicken thighs or drumsticks? Ok. Chicken strips? Nope. Burger ... obviously not.

Unable to take another bite, I put the Big Az where it should have gone in the first place, the Big Az Trashcan in the kitchen by the studio. I had a momentary flash of guilt for wasting the food. I mean, shit, a cow had DIED to become a Big Az Burger. That's when I realized that becoming a Big Az Burger was far more of an insult to the memory of said cow than my throwing the burger away could ever possibly be.


1bite/5

The Time Has Arrived

Normally on the weekends I bring a nice lunch along with me. Today was no different. Roast beef, mashed potatoes and green beans were on the menu. Sure, it wasn't a gigantic portion of any of the above, and even combined it was smallish. I usually eat midway through the morning show, about 2 hours into my shift. Before I had a chance to do so, I was informed that cupcakes awaited any who wished to sup upon them. Honestly, I eat such items even less frequently than I eat and review items from the vending machine.

I gave in and ate a cupcake today, being ravenously hungry from not yet having my lunch. With all that sugar in me, I made it a handful of hours without eating my lunch. By the time my stomach started to growl, my shift was nearly over ... (un?)fortunately I had something other than roast beef waiting to quell the rumblings in my yearning tummy.

Yes.

A few days earlier I had procured none other than the legendary Double Beef Stacker. A chance encounter with the gentleman who fills the vending machine saw me entering a plea for him to repopulate the vending machine with the king of all sandwiches, and the namesake of this blog. My nights were restless with anticipation. Would my beseeching do any good? Was there any chance my prayers would be heard?

A few days later I eagerly checked the vending machine and the sight that greeted me made my heart swell with joy! A near entire row devoted to the Double Beef Stacker! Without hesitation I plunked the money into the machine and greedily hustled back to the fridge to stash away my meal for a time when I could fully lose myself into it.

Let's jump forward now. I stood in front of the microwave as the sandwich cooked. Glorious cooking beef wafted through the air. My stomach rumbled insistently, totally unaware of what my brain knew was an atrocity topped with cheese and a bun. It's kind of like being drunk at a party and an ugly girl comes onto you and rubs your crotch. Even if you have no interest, your soldier probably still salutes. For you women, it's probably akin to walking past a clothing store you don't like and seeing a sign proclaiming a sale on shoes ... ok that was bad. No, I'm not a chauvinist ... some of my best friends are women!

Once I sat down and prepared to tackle the DBS, I'll admit to a moment of hesitation. As has happened to me several times, the thought that I was nuts to do this to myself with such gusto did fleet through my brain. I pushed that aside and forced myself to get to it. I have a duty to uphold after all!

As the pictures will attest, the cheese poured out from beneath the bun and patties like some kind of geyser. It had this only semi-melty look. Pockets of translucence that many extremely processed cheeses get when heated dotted the surface. I had the idea that it wasn't quite sure if it was supposed to be in a liquid state or solid.

Finally I took the first bite. Was it as bad as I had hoped or feared it would be back on the day I first saw it in the vending machine? Definitely not. Was it even near as good as the sole burger I reviewed earlier that I liked? That's definitely not twice.

My first thought was that this meat tasted exactly like the horrible burgers my awful school cafeteria served. The texture was wretched, and the beef tasted as if it had been highly diluted with water so that little flavor remained. Amazingly it seemed to alternate between being mushy and springy/chewy. The fact that the sesame seeds were unusually hard didn't help matters.

Just as the meat vastly varied, so did the taste. One moment the flavor would startle me by being juicy and flavorful, and the next it would bring to mind un-spiced meatloaf, with the same consistency. In general I almost wondered if I were eating a warmed up version of the wax models fast food companies use in their commercials.

Far worse than the meat was, yet again, the bread ... I could smell the sickly sweet aroma as soon as it came out of the microwave. It wasn't quite paste-like, as the buns on other vending machine sandwiches have been, it was still the low point of this particular sandwich. Do people really want to combine two vending machine staples, the burger, and the Honey Bun? I guess if the answer is yes, those folks will be dying to get their hands on The Double Beef Stacker.

I'd swear there must have been some kind of competition with this sandwiches attributes with which one could underachieve the most: the taste, the aroma, or the appearance? If so, the appearance wins hands down. The bun looked defeated, like a drunken out of work husband back from the bar to face the wife after another day of pretending to be out job hunting. The cheese once melted took on the look of the wrinkled skin of a pensioner only moments after it cooled. If you've ever had soup that developed a skin on top of it you know the look I mean. I find that to be about as appetizing as dining on road kill served out of Britney Spears week old panties.

In all, The Double Beef Stacker isn't quite as bad as I initially feared. Could I eat it in a pinch? Sure. Would I enjoy it? Probably as much as I enjoy my alarm clock going off at three AM. At the very least, the Double Beef Stacker has given me the gift of entertaining me with this blog as the result. Oh, and I've gotten to spend time with you too. Isn't life grand? Until our next journey!


2 bites/5