Review: BK's Italian Chicken Sandwich

It's rare that I review food on 10-4GB, but occasionally something is so noteworthy that it has to be mentioned. For example, Jack-In-The-Box's Egg Rolls received a 5 out of 5 review not too long back, and I stand by that opinion.

I was even having a discussion on this same topic when we pulled into Burger King on our way out to Maine to look at a car (which, unsurprisingly, didn't work out). While we bemoaned the non-existence of JITB in the New England states, we took turns ordering from BK's Value Menu, which is pretty much all people order from these days.

BK's Value Menu is a little Chintzy because while every other fast food joint in the nation has developed the "99 Cents Menu" or "Dollar Menu," BK has instead created a menu that says clearly - "these things may be cheap, but they give you a lot of bang for that buck or so." What I didn't realize is that they are lying.

I hit my fast food basics: the $1 Chicken Sandwich, the small fries, the small Coke. But I got cocky, I took it too far. I ordered the new Italian Chicken sandwich, which I assumed would be a loss leader bargain at $1.39.

I'll make a sidenote here: while my loyalties lie with McDonald's one hundred percent in all aspects due to the fact I spent all my formative high school years there discovering that some people never really leave those years, there are some things where McDonald's is simply not up to snuff compared to other similar dineries, and the Chicken McNugget is one of them. The McNugget is, when fresh, a tasty little beast, but it doesn't compare to BK's lean and zesty Chicken Tenders. The McNugget instead falls to fourth or fifth on the list, battling it out with Wendy's cheap but chewy 5-Piece Chicken Nuggets.

I throw this at you because the meat that was on my Italian Chicken sandwich was not a freshly deep-fried breaded chicken breast. Instead, it was as close to a Chicken McNugget as I have ever tasted outside of the Golden Arches. In fact, it was three nuggets, placed on a hamburger bun, and covered in marinara sauce. It was a sandwich clearly invented on freezer clean-out day. It was a travesty.

But I tried it anyway. My appetite held out as long as it could, which was still well under a minute. By the time we pulled out of the parking lot with our food, the sandwich was already crumpled back up in its paper and back in the bag, and I was halfway through my fries.

Shoulda gone with the Whopper Jr.

Rating: Half a Star out of Five

This is probably how Frodo felt.

I still hate car hunting.

My old college roommate loves it, always has. He used to spend hours upon hours at Autotrader and Cars.com, picking out cool cars that he could afford. He never bought any, but he'd figure out a way that he could buy them - selling his car, buying a ticket to Arizona from Southwest, doing it on Fall Break weekend so he'd have enough time to get it back for classes on Tuesday. He had no intention of ever doing so, of course. He just wanted to see that he could. It was bewildering.

I find it this confusing because it's so far off from where I am. I feel desperately lost when I car hunt. Friends will give me useful car advice about buying cars ("Above all, pretend you know what you're doing"), but when I actually get into the lot, I feel like Hansel after he figures out that animals have eaten all his breadcrumbs.

Every day I hunt for a good car until I find what seems a reasonable deal. That night, I explain to my family, friends, and roommate what kind of car I want to buy, and they explain why it's not a good idea. So I call the guy back and tell him I'm not interested in that rebuilt '84 El Camino he's selling, and I start over.

I think I'm only ready to talk about this now because I think I might have finally found a car. It's a '93 Volvo 850 selling for $2K just over the border in Maine. I'm driving up tomorrow afternoon, Hopefully, this time tomorrow I'll have agreed on a deal, so this trip won't be a complete waste of gas money and this long, merciless trek will finally be over.

But, if not, I can see if that Camino's still selling.

Wedding Presents and Funeral Thoughts

Tomorrow evening Tyler Tate and Ruth O'Neil will be joined in really awesome marital bliss in Lexington, Kentucky. To my complete dismay, I will in fact not be attending, because
a) it's 1000 miles away, and
b) that's a long distance to travel on foot.

Still, all the best to both of them, and I do wish I could be there. I realized earlier that since I am now in both a legal and socially acceptable sense a full adult, it's probably de rigeur to buy them a present and ship it down. Poop. As a consolation, it's almost like a really lame adventure to poke through a registry and try to find something reasonably priced and reasonably appropriate to send the happy couple. I sent them a wildly expensive hunk of wood. I don't know why they want it.*

I've also decided it's no longer appropriate to post every few days with topical posting. Since I'm free enough to post more often, I shall, even though that may mean some fairly banal posting. But if you've known me for more than a week or two, you know which party I usually fall into in the quality/quantity conundrum.

Someone re-sent my last post on to the Bishop family. Though I suspected that might end up being the case when I posted, I now feel somewhat strange about it. Writing the piece was catharsis for me, and I considered deleting it forever after writing it, but when you leave something on a blog in the early hours of the morning, it seems unlikely that anyone will actually read it. Knowing that people have, if only a few people, makes me feel uncomfortable. And that's certainly a first for the 10-4GB site.

Finally, I've seen three or four movies since I've been back (MI3, RV, and the Da Vinci Code). Reviews on at least one of those to follow. I mean it.

*If you'd like to send a gift to the pair yourself, click the link. I recommend choosing from Macy's, myself.

Adam Bishop, June 1985-May 2006

I'd been at the wake for maybe a half an hour when a short tow-headed kid I'd never seen before handed me a small sheet of blue cardboard paper and a glitter pen in some emasculating shade - purple, I think.
"What's this for?"
"You're supposed to write down your favorite story about Adam," he stated solemnly, and scurried off. I opened the pen and scrawled something on the sheet, and dropped it into the box when I got the end of the line.

I'm telling you this because what I wrote on the sheet was nothing more than a platitude, a fairly worthless bit of reminiscing on Adam's character and God's love. Maybe it was the length of time since I saw Adam last, or maybe we'd never really known each other well enough, but I couldn't come up with a single event, a single anecdote, even a single shared experience. I wrote something about his smile. I'm sorry, Adam, you deserved more than that.

So let me tell you what I do remember about you.

I've known you as long as I've known anyone - you were born only two years after me - so there's no period in my life that I can recall where I haven't known you. We went to school together in both grade school and high school, you were always part of that group of omnipresent constant friends I called simply "family."

I'm glad we were such good friends in high school. We were in the same boat, "nice guys," that inescapable description that meant we were thoughtful and conscientious and always there to lend a hand, even if it meant that people would walk over you. But so much of what I did was show, while you really did toil unnoticed in the wings - there's a reason I never won those "Servant's Heart" awards at the end of the year, just as there's a reason that you always did.

You were all those things that don't count with people in high school - you were friendly and unassuming and eternally dedicated to your friends and deep enough to be worth talking to. You were relaxed and fun and willing to mess around with anyone. You really listened to people. You weren't all that cool by the sheltered Christian culture standards at our school, but then, the definition of cool at our school was "not being a virgin," (and we didn't know anyone who wasn't).

You disappeared out of my life for good after you finished high school, so I guess the last time I saw you was two years ago, when I came to Nashua to see your graduation. You'd grown up during the year while I'd been away at college, and suddenly you were taller, more broad-shouldered, and you had that grown-up... look. I knew - everyone knew - you'd do well.

I suppose too much had happened with awkward break-ups and bruised relationships, but you disappeared out of my group of friends that summer, and I'm sorry I never saw you since. I don't know what we would have had to talk about if I'd seen you this summer anyway. I found out tonight you'd switched to being a communications major a few weeks back because of your love of photography. So I guess we could've talked about that. I would've liked that.

And I really did like your smile, just so you know. I wasn't lying about that. I'll be glad to see it on the other side. Until then: goodbye, Adam. You did good. Rest in peace.

Instant Messenger

I just logged back in to AOL Instant Messenger for the first time in at least a year, and remembered, again, the terrifying feeling of being IMed by ten people simultaneously. I didn't even really mean to sign back in. I just hit the iChat button while I was setting up to try to configure it right, and all of a sudden, I couldn't see my background anymore.

A lesson learned: don't hit this button. Ever.