
Ever since discovering this specialty fast food item available only at Wendy's, my sights were set on tackling this seemingly insurmountable pinnacle of beef intake. If you have not familiarized yourself with this unique burger entree, you are not alone.
Once I approached the counter, the 'meat cube' request felt a lot like soliciting a well-dressed businessman for some low-grade meth or homegrown moonshine you heard he had. The cashier, once I explained what the sandwich was (four beef patties in a stack) treated the transaction in similar fashion, glancing furtively around, and conceding that this was not actually a real option, but he would be willing to make it for me. I rounded out the customized order with the classic apparel: some lettuce and tomato.
Underestimating the magnitude of the sandwich solo, I also ordered a side of chili and nuggets. The first item I tackled, unhesitatingly, was the meat cube, desiring to get an untainted experience. I cannot, in good conscience, recommend this item to anyone actually concerned with taste.
Turns out there is in fact a limit to the meat vs. trimmings ratio before it becomes too much. About two thirds through the endeavor it began to feel as if my stomach was wading through a thick, miry swamp that initially looked like a fun challenge, but then proved to be a sticky, grueling marathon. There's a reason it's not on the menu.