The McGriddle

If you walk into your workplace holding McDonald's new McGriddle breakfast sandwich, you will likely become an instant mini-celebrity. The buzz is enthusiastic: "Is that a McGriddle?" "How is it?" "How much do I have to pay you for a bite of that?"

People who hardly glanced away from their monitors upon the arrival of your new iPod will cluster around to see the wondrous new McGriddle. Oh, syrup-infused pancake/buns! Oh, stack of breakfast foods! Oh, McDonald's!

Oh, hell. This thing is truly weird.

For a person used to eating a normal breakfast, buying the McGriddle is a slightly daunting experience. Instead of making you order from a customized spread of traditional American breakfast foods, McDonald's has saved you the time by lumping them together into a single, awe-inspiring über-thing.

The McGriddles have three different incarnations: sausage; sausage, egg and cheese; or bacon, egg and cheese. And they're all wrapped in high-tech syrup-infused pancakes. More on those — and their shocking secret design flaw — later.

Reader Email "your fingers dont get greasy when u eat a tasty mcgriddle, they get finger lickin' good...." More ›

The sausage, egg and cheese model seemed to be most representative of the McGriddle's awesome potential, and for a mere $2.19, it was cheaper than a bagel sandwich at Au Bon "We're not French! We swear!" Pain.

The McGriddle, a heavy, sweaty, floppy little thing, is somewhat off-putting at first.

"Is this kosher?" I asked the clerk, stuffing the paper bag into my knapsack.

She stared at me blankly.

"No, I'm sure it's fine," I said. Of course, the McGriddle is so far from kosher that if you listen carefully while you chew, you can hear the tiny voices of ancient, highly regarded rabbis yelling at you from beyond the grave.

But regardless of its religious standing, the 550-calorie greasebomb goes down easy. The pancake/bun thing is pleasantly sweet, if somewhat soggy, and its insipid syrup aftertaste nicely sets off the sausage patty's light dash of spice. The slice of American cheese bonds completely with the circular yellow egg thing, creating a warm disk of pliable breakfast-tasting protein that's hard to taste, let alone remember. Overall, it's easy to eat, warm, filling and slightly entertaining, like a particularly good episode of "Will and Grace."

The bad news: Eating a McGriddle makes your fingers shiny.

McDonald's all but says, "If the McGriddle gets syrup on your hands, we'll drive over to your house and cook you a real breakfast that doesn't make you slightly queasy 5-10 minutes after you're finished with it."

And it's true: the McGriddle's patented syrup-containment pancake-bun things (which seem to be a layer of dry pancake, a middle layer of syrup-soaked pancake, and then another layer of dry pancake) are pretty good. They're effectively syrup proof. But they're not greaseproof, which wouldn't be a problem if the McGriddle consisted of two magic pancakes sandwiching, say, some corn flakes. No such luck; the sausage and egg stuff is oilier than Jerry Falwell and Al Sharpton making love on the beach, and your fingertips will come away all slippery.

This is good news if you happen to work in a firehouse or massage parlor. For pretty much everyone else, it's probably a minus.

Will the McGriddle inject a note of pep into McDonald's business prospects? At a time when the company is struggling against anti-Americanism abroad and health consciousness at home, the McGriddle might appeal to the restaurant's key constituency of careless people who will eat any damn thing, as long as it's greasy. But, then again, these people probably didn't need a whole lot of coaxing and gimmickry to come to McDonald's in the first place.

And for those looking for a great way to start the day, remember this: 550 calories of grease and carbohydrates is not necessarily the answer. But it may impress your friends for the time being, so buy one now, before the novelty fades like porkfat dissolving in handsoap and water.