Review: BK Angry Burger

If you look in a dictionary of English idiom under "fool's errand," you will see a picture of me in my trusty old Camry, driving all over hell-and-gone in the Midwest on a June Sunday. That's how I spent my day yesterday.

You see, I just proofread the galleys of the revised, expanded slow cooker book, and made an embarrassing discovery: I'd repeated a recipe. I very simply had had the same idea twice, once for the original edition, and once for the expanded version, and not realized it. I needed another recipe post haste, and since the recipe-stutter was of a spare rib recipe, it seemed a good idea to do ribs.

I tried a recipe on Saturday, and it was okay, but not book worthy. I took another half-slab out of the deep freeze, and started looking for inspiration. I found it in a recipe for a Cuban pork roast, but it called for dark rum. I had none in the house, and Indiana is a blue law state; you can't buy liquor on Sunday, except for by the drink in a restaurant or bar. And I needed a recipe by today!

Having lived for 17 years in Illinois, and visiting there a couple times a year, at least, I knew it was not a blue law state, and the Indiana/Illinois border is 90 minutes away. I figure that if I hopped in my car right away, and went to the first town across the border, I could grab a bottle of Myer's Rum and get back in time to cook ribs if I set the Crockpot(tm) on "high." So I fired up the car, turned on the new Garmin, threw the next disc of my CD book in the deck, and set out across Rt 46, toward Terre Haute.

Imagine my dismay, then, when I learned that the county right across the border from Terre Haute is dry on Sundays. So is the next county north. I wasted a whole afternoon, and a good thirty bucks worth of gas, and still didn't have a damned recipe.

All of which explains why I was looking for a fast lunch somewhere around Brazil, Indiana, on the way home. When my Garmin told me to get off I 70, there was a McD's to the left and a BK to the right. The Garmin told me to turn right, so rather than annoy the Lady in the Dashboard, I stopped at BK.

I was going to order a Whopper with Cheese, hold the bun, but then saw a signboard for something called the Angry Burger. Intrigued, I asked the nice girl at the counter what was on an Angry Burger? Jalapeno cheese, she said, and sliced jalapenos. Bacon, onions, lettuce, tomato, mayo and "Angry Sauce." Sounded more interesting than a plain hamburger patty with American cheese, so I ordered an Angry Burger, hold the bun, and a large iced tea.

So how was it? Meh. The slice of cheese was teeny; if it covered half the Whopper patty, I'd be surprised. The bacon and tomato were fine, but the onions turned out to be battered and deep fried; I took them off. I had been expecting fresh raw onion. I liked the jalapenos, but then I like most anything that involves breathing fire. The Angry Sauce was okay, but sugary. There wasn't enough of it to spike my blood sugar, I'd guess, but if you're being really strict you wouldn't want it.

Most of all, I was unimpressed with the burger itself. It was dry, tough, and flavorless. I hadn't had a BK burger in a while, and I was really disappointed in the quality of the patty. I don't care if it's broiled instead of fried, if it comes across as broiled shoe leather.

Oh, and they gave me the bun; so much for Have It Your Way. I took it, and those fried onions, home to my chickens.

I'd give you actual numbers on the Angry Burger, but they're not up at the BK website; I looked.

As it is, next time I'll turn left and get a McDonald's Angus Bacon Cheeseburger, my fast food burger of choice. And the heck with the Lady in the Dashboard.

Oh, and I got up this morning, went to the liquor store, and bought my rum. My ribs were in the slow cooker by 10 or so, and should be done early enough for me to try them before close of business today, allowing me to keep my promise to my editor, assuming they're as good as they smell.

And I'm four discs further along to finding out how Inspector Monk and his wife Hester get the bad guy in Victorian London. So I guess it wasn't all a waste.