Pull up to the Taco Bell drive-thru and imagine you’ve just committed your most favorite stoner morning ritual: the wake-and-bake.
“Hello!” you say to the intercom. “I am here for breakfast!” You’re at Taco Bell and it’s only 10 a.m. That’s pretty neat.
Sit there for awhile. Contemplate the menu board and this new world of breakfast-like culinary titterings. It contains sundry morning-style product-things, like egg patty with yellow cheese topping, and meat-commodities too, like sausage patty, sausage ball, maybe-steaks and bacon bit shreddings.
And then you see them - something called Cinnabon Delights, which you read as Cinnabon Balls, because that’s the only way you can comprehend them - because that’s what they are; because that is their truth. Cinnabon Balls.
So that’s how you order them.
“I’ll have the Cinnabon Balls,” you say. They know what you mean.
You review the menu and then quickly order everything else they have to offer. Ten minutes and $10 later, you sit in your car, alone with this bounty, and pull out a Cinnabon Delight. You pop it into your mouth, chomp down and find a surprise: warm, white goo. Lots of it. Oh, so sweet - so much saccharine goop. It's pasty, chalky, white; it’s goo sweet enough to sting like a bee. And then, out of nowhere, just as you need something else, anything, more goo. You have no idea where it comes from.
You need to move on to something less pastry. You pull out your Bacon Waffle Taco, a taco with a shell made of waffle, or at least some kind of bread product stamped into the waffle form. It’s hypnotizing pattern reminds you of the way Ronald McDonald hand-shapes each McRib. Just one bite in, you realize that the Waffle Taco was developed to taste consistently maple-sweet throughout, as though it was passed through the birthing canal of a Mrs. Buttersworth or an Aunt Jemima, and syrup is simply part of its DNA.
You try the three or four other items in your bag: the A.M. Crunchwrap, which is by far the most satisfying and least Frankenstein offering. It contains a thickish slab of potato hash-brown and yellow cheese simulate. There’s more frightening egg stuff in there, the same eggy bits as in the Waffle Taco, but it’s nothing that scurries away from the Crunchwrap on its own volition.
Next, you take one bite of the Breakfast Burrito, which you find is filled with tiny, Spaghetti-O-style sausage balls, and you immediately set the breakfast tube down. You’re done. Not even you novelty of broadcasting to your friends on Twitter about your experience with Taco Bell Breakfast is worth going through this.
But you’re still hungry. You ball up your excreted morning taco parts and their wrappings into a gigantic ball of refuse and deposit it at the side of the road. There, it will soon disintegrate and become part of the local ecosystem, and someday grow into more Taco Bell Breakfast. A new generation, hopefully better than the first. Life, mas.
You feel betrayed by this first generation of breakfast innovation. But then you look up and see it, a comforting glow the warms the belly: The Golden Arches. It’s 10:21 a.m., and if you hurry, you might just make it.