Once upon a time in America, Van Halen ruled the airwaves, Crockett and Tubbs kept the streets of Miami safe, and Wendy's was the undisputed king of fast-food quality. Hungry customers could count on a burger topped with crisp veggies on a soft, fresh bun with a side of freshly-made fries, salted to perfection. One might hit a Burger King or a McDonald's for variety's sake, but only Wendy's could be relied upon for a top-notch fast-food dining experience.
In the era of iPods and CSI: Everywhere, there's no guarantee that a visit to the smiling girl in the red pigtails will result in a good meal. Soggy fries, stale buns, limp lettuce, and inaccurate order-filling have spoiled several recent Wendy's visits for me. In the post-Dave Thomas era, Wendy's seems to have lost its way, and management appears to be scrambling for a solution.
Fortunately, there are a few locations around still doing it Dave's Way. Judging by my last visit, the Wendy's at Perimeter is one such restaurant. Hoping for an 80's-style experience, I ordered the #1 combo: a single with cheese, fries, and a Coke. The patty was hot and greasy enough to be flavorful, yet not greasy enough to foul the bun. The lettuce, tomato and onions were crisp and tasty and the fries were cooked to perfection. If I had to pick nits, I'd point to the sad little smear of ketchup in the center of the burger, but that was easily rectified with a trip to the condiments bar.
A coworker who dined with me ordered the Baconator. He reports that it was tasty, though he couldn't finish it. I can't bring myself to try the Baconator, because I have never forgiven it for bumping the Big Bacon Classic from the menu. The Big Bacon Classic was a single with a Kaiser bun, cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, and three strips of bacon, perfect in its simplicity before the Wendy's marketing folks robbed it of its veggies and loaded it with an additional 1/4-lb patty, another slice of cheese, and three more strips of bacon and renamed it the Baconator. Why, Wendy's? Why give the Michael Moores and Morgan Spurlocks of the world more ammunition in their war against Big Grease? Did anyone ever sit down to eat a Big Bacon Classic with fries and get up complaining that he was still hungry? If Clara Peller tried a Baconator, she wouldn't ask where the beef was — she'd gag on it. Curse you, Baconator, you monument to 21st-century excess...
Where was I? Oh, right - the Perimeter Wendy's. The counter staff was friendly and efficient, the condiment bar well-stocked, and the dining room clean and spacious. This location shares space with Wendy's poor donut-peddling cousin Tim Horton, and there's always plenty of seats on Tim's side of the building should the Wendy's side fill up. Unfortunately, this space-sharing arrangement means that from 11:45 to 1:00, the parking lot is gridlocked with two intertwining lines of cars waiting for the dual drive-thru windows. If you don't have time to dine in, arrive early to avoid the hassle.
Wendy's executives looking to restore the chain to the glory it enjoyed in the Reagan era would do well to have a meal at the Perimeter Wendy's, then brainstorm on ways to propagate this quality to all locations. And take the geek in the pigtailed wig from the current ads — please.
In the era of iPods and CSI: Everywhere, there's no guarantee that a visit to the smiling girl in the red pigtails will result in a good meal. Soggy fries, stale buns, limp lettuce, and inaccurate order-filling have spoiled several recent Wendy's visits for me. In the post-Dave Thomas era, Wendy's seems to have lost its way, and management appears to be scrambling for a solution.
Fortunately, there are a few locations around still doing it Dave's Way. Judging by my last visit, the Wendy's at Perimeter is one such restaurant. Hoping for an 80's-style experience, I ordered the #1 combo: a single with cheese, fries, and a Coke. The patty was hot and greasy enough to be flavorful, yet not greasy enough to foul the bun. The lettuce, tomato and onions were crisp and tasty and the fries were cooked to perfection. If I had to pick nits, I'd point to the sad little smear of ketchup in the center of the burger, but that was easily rectified with a trip to the condiments bar.
A coworker who dined with me ordered the Baconator. He reports that it was tasty, though he couldn't finish it. I can't bring myself to try the Baconator, because I have never forgiven it for bumping the Big Bacon Classic from the menu. The Big Bacon Classic was a single with a Kaiser bun, cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, and three strips of bacon, perfect in its simplicity before the Wendy's marketing folks robbed it of its veggies and loaded it with an additional 1/4-lb patty, another slice of cheese, and three more strips of bacon and renamed it the Baconator. Why, Wendy's? Why give the Michael Moores and Morgan Spurlocks of the world more ammunition in their war against Big Grease? Did anyone ever sit down to eat a Big Bacon Classic with fries and get up complaining that he was still hungry? If Clara Peller tried a Baconator, she wouldn't ask where the beef was — she'd gag on it. Curse you, Baconator, you monument to 21st-century excess...
Where was I? Oh, right - the Perimeter Wendy's. The counter staff was friendly and efficient, the condiment bar well-stocked, and the dining room clean and spacious. This location shares space with Wendy's poor donut-peddling cousin Tim Horton, and there's always plenty of seats on Tim's side of the building should the Wendy's side fill up. Unfortunately, this space-sharing arrangement means that from 11:45 to 1:00, the parking lot is gridlocked with two intertwining lines of cars waiting for the dual drive-thru windows. If you don't have time to dine in, arrive early to avoid the hassle.
Wendy's executives looking to restore the chain to the glory it enjoyed in the Reagan era would do well to have a meal at the Perimeter Wendy's, then brainstorm on ways to propagate this quality to all locations. And take the geek in the pigtailed wig from the current ads — please.
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