I just so happened to catch an informative episode of Unwrapped on the Food Network last week about Dave Thomas's fast food empire. I've summarized it into a tidy outline here:
November 15, 1969: The very first Wendy's opens in Columbus, Ohio.
November 1979: The salad bar is introduced. Vegheads everywhere rejoice.
October 1983: The baked potato is added to the menu. Carbo-loading yuppies everywhere rejoice.
March 2005: A woman in San Jose, CA claims to have found a finger in her bowl of chili. This story is later determined to have been a set-up and the lady was sentenced to prison.
April 2005: A future food blog-ess is hired by UCSB's UCen Dining services. Her first assignment: man the nugget & french frier.
A smattering of fun facts:
*Wendy's burgers are "square because they don't cut corners."
*According to the takeout bag, "there are 256 ways to personalize a Wendy's hamburger. Luckily somone was paying attention in math class."
*One can get a Mystic-quality tan in less than 10 minutes working the French Frier & Hot Food station during the lunch rush.
*Freshly made Chicken Nuggets are the BEST hang-over cure.
*When aforementioned Chicken Nuggets are unavailable, the NEXT best hang-over cure are the mini-packaged saltines meant to be finger-food (sorry, couldn't help mah-self) for the chili...So needless to say, Wendy and I have history.
I don't know who's decision it was, but there is NO Wendy's west of the 405. (There also isn't a Burger King within miles of my house, but I get more than slightly creeped out by the King.) I call this reverse discrimination and a travesty towards Westsiders everywhere and I will have it no longer.
Today's mission: visit the Wendy's nearest to the office located in Culver City within the designated 1 hour time frame. Can we do it? For the sake of my stomach, I hope so.
*45 minutes later*
Not to sound like a walking (scrolling?) advertisement, but the latest thing at Wendy's is the Frosty Float. Gotta say, it was delicious, yet nothing spectacular. Just a standard Coke float. But maybe that was my fault because in my flustered rush at the drive-thru, I ordered vanilla instead of the classic chocolate flavor. Fresh out of the frier, the fries were perfectly salty golden goodness, which I devoured while speeding down Sepulveda.
Back in my corner cubicle, the dregs of the fries are staler than cardboard. *Sigh*
As my post-lunch coma sets in, I'm starting to think maybe it's all for the best that Wendy remains an ethereal Pan-like fantasy. I can remember far too many bleary-eyed Sundays when I would drag myself out of a warm bed to cross the expansive distance from dorm to UCen in order to make sure some other equally hungover soul got his 8 Jr. Bacons with Cheese.