Friday, September 19, 2008

Volcano Taco

I was recently asked by a reader to review Taco Bell's latest entry in their increasingly cartoonish line of heart-stopping junk food: the ominously titled Volcano Taco.

I used to eat Taco Bell pretty much on the daily, during what I like to call my "college days"--ie, the period of my life where I would have been going to college, had I gone to college. Ever since "graduating", however, with my masters' in Not Going to College, I pretty much avoid fast food like something really nasty that everyone tries to avoid, I dunno, poop or something. Don't expect me to come up with good metaphors, I didn't go to college.

So the idea of eating this "Volcano Taco" sent shivers of nausea through my digestive tract, but since I love the idea of getting "requests" sent in by "fans", I decided to do it. On my way to Taco Bell, I was nearly lured away from my mission by Taco Del Mar, which is directly across the street. Today is Friday, you see, and at Taco Del Mar, that means it's FISH FRIDAY, and that means 2 fish tacos for 3.69! All I'd need is 2 loaves of bread and I could eat like Mexican Jesus. But no. I had a job to do.

I crossed the street, and ordered the taco. It cost $1.09. The drivethru lady seemed baffled. How could I survive off just one little dollar taco? I smirked and said, "I guess you folks don't get a lot of professional food critics in here. Obviously I can't have my sensitive pallette getting confused by any Steak Fajita Melts or Zesty Chicken Bowls, can I? Just one taco please. One...Volcano Taco." I said that with some dramatic breathiness to show her I meant it. She got the idea.

I got the taco. I considered taking it home, but decided I should eat it in the Taco Bell parking lot for maximum authenticity. To really soak up the vibe. When I opened the taco, the first thing that caught my eye was the corn tortilla shell. It was red. I had seen this on the poster, of course, and based on that poster I had expected the shell to be covered in pseudo-delicious flavor powder. It was not. It was just a regular taco shell, dyed a vivid, eczema red. Yum.

Inside the flamboyant shell, basically what we have is a taco. With hot sauce. There's the shredded cheddar cheese, there's the shredded iceberg lettuce, there's the finely ground powdered-beef, and saturating it all, there's the thick, oozing hot sauce, which is actually just gas-station nacho cheezz pumped full of chili powder. So that's it. That's the Volcano Taco. The name seems a bit hyperbolic for a taco that's not even particularly spicy. Maybe the "Volcano" refers to what awaits me on the toilet later this evening.

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