Cheeseburger Ravioli

I’m eating some Cheeseburger Ravioli from Chef Boyardee. That I’ve felt compelled to write about it says a lot about the experience. The first word that came to mind was “abomination”. Some lines should not be crossed. Some experiments simply should not be tried, like combining the DNA of dogs and cats, or mixing peanut butter and pickles. My general theory was “how bad could it be?” when I bought it. As I’m eating it, I keep supressing the observation that the sauce, which I suppose is supposed to be cheesy, tastes to me like there’s just a hint of vomit in it. You remember that weird, sickeningly sweet smell that the powder had that they put down on the floor when someone vomited on the floor in school? Well, that’s kind of what this sauce tastes like.
Okay, so maybe I’m exagerrating. But I’m firmly convinced that this was one of those ideas that someone should have lost their job over. Or at least have been given the rest of the day off. “Cheeseburger ravioli, huh, Harry? Sure. Thanks. Hey, um, why don’t you just go on home and get some rest?” It’s not that bad, really. But to me, “not that bad” means that I was able to eat all of it. That’s not a glowing recommendation. I feel kind of like I’m being harsh here, and I hope no one from the Chef Boyardee company winds up here, and has their day ruined by my reaction. But I just keep thinking that “cheeseburger” and “ravioli” are two great tastes that should never go together.

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