Classy Food Reviews - Wendy's Baconator Pringles

Nope.

That should really be the end of the review but I am being told that four letters does not constitute an article, so I suppose I will elaborate.

For those of you who don’t have their finger on the pulse of new and exciting garbage foods, allow me to bring you up to speed. Recently, Pringles and Wendy’s must have decided that 2020 hasn’t quite been terrible enough, so they joined forces to unleash Baconator Pringles on an unsuspecting and increasingly isolated populace. It is my firm belief that this will, in time, come to be regarded as the worst tragedy of this already desperate and desolate year.

Perhaps they started with good intentions. Perhaps they did not purposefully set out to create chips that taste like bachelordom incarnate. Perhaps they were too busy acting like weird pseudo-humans on Twitter to realize the mistake they were making. Perhaps.

Upon opening the can, I was assailed by the unique aroma of stale ketchup and loneliness. As though they somehow managed to capture the feeling you get after consuming a Baconator and distilled that down into a smell through some dark alchemical process. My assumption is that this is a natural warning, as if the chips themselves are saying, “Hey, buddy, we know what you’re about to do and we urge you wholeheartedly to reconsider. Nothing but madness lies this way. Turn back. Reconsider your life. Quit paying a premium on Amazon to buy novelty chips flavors. Please.”

Sadly, lost in my own hubris, I ignored this plea.

My first bite was met with immediate disbelief. Surely this was some kind of mistake. My eyes darted back to the front of the can, checking to make sure I hadn’t accidentally purchased Cat Vomits Directly Into Your Mouth flavored Pringles. I had not. Depressed, but not yet willing to admit that I had wasted $10.00, I pressed on. Maybe it gets better after a few chips? Maybe it is an acquired taste?

Half a can later, and I had confirmed what my heart already knew to be true: It does not get better. It is not an acquired taste.

The horrible stench lingered on my fingers for the rest of the day, like the blood of a first kill. Soap would not remove it. After the third wash, I gave up entirely. I began to regard it as a scarlet letter, testament to my own careless naivety. Why did I foolishly believe that the complex and elegant flavors of the Baconator could possibly be captured in chip form? This is a question that will haunt me for some time.

And yet, as I write this with the added clarity of hindsight, I can’t help but wonder if the fault is collectively ours.

Oh sure, it started innocently enough: barbecue, salt and vinegar, sour cream and onion. Simple flavors for a simpler time. Yet, we were not satisfied. We continued to demand increasingly extravagant flavors from these humble slices of fried earth apple. So that, when we eat them, we can imagine that we are in fact eating a different food entirely. A better food. A sexier food. Is this tantamount to culinary infidelity? A casual erosion of our gastrointestinal morals? These are the things that keep me up at night, but the message is clear: You are not good enough when you are simply you, potato chip.

Is it any wonder then, that a wall was finally reached? Perhaps we’re the monsters.

Rating: 0.5/10