1 dusty can of wholesome goodness for only $1.19 at Cedar Country Boy.
That's right, ladies and gentlemen. I have stooped this low, and I'm not afraid to admit it. I've said it a million times and I'll say it again: You've got to embrace the guilty pleasures in life, not be embarrased by them.
According to official product website: "Chef Boyardee has combined the deliciousness of nachos with the bounciest pasta ever. In every bite, pasta is smothered with Chef's cheesy nacho sauce."
Wow. Where do I start?
I opened the can of this fine gourmet delicacy (it comes with a canned cat food-style lid with a ring on it that you pull) and as the final section of the lid was separated from the can, "nacho cheese sauce" that was on the upper inside of the lid splattered on the wall.
Mmmm.
Waiting inside the can for me was a pile of orange spiral noodles that were pretty puffy looking, most likely because pasta is not usually something that indefinitely wades in a 16 oz. can of nacho cheese sauce until someone desperate like me in need of a cheap lunch rescues it from the dusty Cedar Country Boy store shelves.
As I poured the can into a microwave safe bowl, it looked like it was vomiting big pasta chunks and drooling dark orange saliva. Suddenly I felt like those people that bungee jump must feel when they're on the edge of the bridge, asking themselves "Do I take this leap? Is it worth it?"
I tried to psych myself up and eventually put the bowl in the microwave. 1 minute and 30 seconds to nacho cheese coated pasta bliss. 6 minutes and 30 seconds until my stomach would be full of it and very unhappy with what I chose to put in it.
"Ding!" The microwave was telling me it did its job and my meal awaited me. I could have sworn I heard a Doomsday-style church bell rather than the usual little "ding" that happens when food is ready, but it must have been my imagination.
I took the first spoonful. Hm, not too bad.
2nd spoonful. Okay, I guess it's better than McDonalds.
3rd spoonful. Has this stuff been approved by the FDA?
By the time the 4th spoonful came about, I was starting to feel queasy. The cars passing by outside on Cedar Avenue started glowing and had a motion blur trail behind them. I suddenly felt an uncontrollable urge to hold up my spoon. I did, and it started talking to me. It said "Micycle... eat more Chef Boyardee Cheesy Nacho Twistaroni.."
Like watching a car accident happen and knowing there's nothing you can do, I took another spoonful. The pasta slid down my throat slowly and I started feeling carsick. It felt like it was having a difficult time making its way down my food pipes, most likely because my body was trying its hardest to reject it. But Hell no, I made it that far and I'll be damned if I was going to turn back. I was gonna eat this stuff if I had to force it down.
Which I did.
The bowl was empty other than a thin layer of cheese that was painted on the sides and a circle of it that had accumulated on the bottom. The hallucinations became more intense. The cheese accumulation on the bottom of the bowl started glowing - it became the sun. I could not stop staring at it and blacked out.
When I came to, I decided to read the ingredients on the can. Big mistake. It was a pretty large paragraph and the text was small. The only words I could actually pronounce were "pasta" and "cheese".
In the end, I give Chef Boyardee's Cheesy Nacho Twistaroni a big thumbs down. I will not be playing this culinary version of Russian Roulette ever again, nor would I recommend it to any of you. Not unless you've got a good 48 hours where you know you'll be in the safety of your own home. Because in that time, Chef Boyardee is gonna come a knockin' on the doors of your stomach lining. And he's gonna be pissed. He'll be wearing a leather jacket, shades, and carrying a bludgeon - and dude is gonna be ripe and ready to stir up some major shit with your sorry self.
