While strolling haplessly around Manhattan this weekend, I found myself sitting at the Carnegie Deli, eating a corned beef sandwich. It was so massive, I couldn’t even take a picture of it.  After reverse-engineering the sandwich, here is what I believe to be the recipe:

2 slices rye bread
3 pounds amazing corned beef

1. Place one slice of rye bread on flat counter top.
2. Pile on all the corned beef.
3. Top with second slice of rye bread.
4. Cut in half to give the illusion that you serve manageable portions.
5. Serve with no extras, sides, condiments, or garnishes.
6. Rake in serious dough. And by dough, I mean money.

I had taken the subway from Penn Station to Carnegie Deli. But the only viable return course, after eating several pounds of meat, was to walk into Central Park, by Strawberry Fields, to the American Museum of Natural History, up to 81st Street, back through the park, around the lake, to the Plaza Hotel, across the street to the Apple Store (play with an iPad for 5 minutes), back over to 6th Avenue, down to 34th Street, and over to the train station.

This is precisely what I did. And I still burned off only a fraction of the sandwich. I have no plans to return to the Carnegie Deli anytime soon. Once is enough for even the strongest of constitutions to endure a challenge of such epic magnitude. I dare say, no one has ever returned to the Carnegie Deli after their first meal there. Except for Larry King, who– judging from the pictures on the wall– has eaten there many times.

Oy gevalt! What a clever title! Unfortunately, I can’t take credit for it. The title of this post is the menu listing for the impressively pungent bagel pictured above. Just north of Philadelphia’s Rittenhouse Square is a little deli called Rachael’s Nosheri. And while their coffee is somewhat weak, their bagels strong-arm their way into your heart and stomach.

As if an everything bagel wasn’t flavorful enough, you get lox, the wonderfully cured fillet of salmon on a bed of cream cheese. Then, to add bite, they sneak in a red onion, which– in addition to the fish– makes for the freshest of breath. To garnish and add even more flavor, the chefs at Rachael’s add an olive on a toothpick to each half of the bagel. The first bite is tantamount to a blast of cold water in your face, a blast of cold, salmony, oniony water. Continuing through the bagel, your taste buds begin to acclimate themselves to the onslaught of zest.

But perhaps the best part of my trip to Rachael’s Nosheri was that I got to enjoy my bagel with a friend of mine, a real live Jew named Rachel. While she is in fact from New York (not Philadelphia) and spells her name differently, Rachel gave her whole-hearted endorsement of Rachael’s bagels. And that stamp of approval was good enough to convince me to keep eating, even after the first bite nearly knocked the wind out of me.

After my harrowing experience with the Double Down, I needed some time to collect myself, ponder the meaning of such reckless grease, and find the motivation to continue with my investigation. I recently returned to the same KFC/Taco Bell to experience another terrifying day of life outside the bun. The next subject: Taco Bell’s XXL Chalupa.

Some things are just too big for their own good. I like to think of these things as, much like the Roman Empire, too big not to fail. Two such things are the XXL Chalupa and the New York Yankees. Perhaps that’s why Yankees manager Joe Girardi and Yankees closer Mariano Rivera star in a commercial for the XXL Chalupa. The commercial centers around the difficulty people have with finishing the XXL. Well I can tell you first hand that the difficulty comes not in finishing the chalupa, but in reconciling yourself with what you eventually realize you just ate.

When you open the box, the XXL appears by no means insurmountable. It is roughly the size of two regular chalupas. And while it takes a little longer to eat, you don’t feel full at the end (you don’t feel satisfied either, but that’s true of many things at Taco Bell). Only about ten minutes after you finish do you realize your folly. Like a compressed file, it unzips and extracts itself upon entering your stomach. You begin to wonder how much ground beef and fried-something-or-other you actually just consumed.

Because of this unique trait, the XXL is better suited, in my opinion, for another purpose. Instead of nourishment, it should be used as a weapon. First we confuse our enemies by giving them what looks to be a free meal. After they consume said meal, they become incapacitated by nausea, stomach aches, and indigestion. We could end wars without firing a single shot. We could apprehend our enemies, as they would be throwing themselves at our feet, begging for some sort of medical attention. Yes, friends, the XXL is the Trojan Horse of chalupas, and it should be wielded as such.

But with great power comes great responsibility– which is why I am disappointed that Taco Bell has recklessly introduced the XXL to the general public when it truly belongs in C-17s en route to combat zones. In the wrong hands, this toxic agent presents a danger to society and a threat to our way of life. So please join me in asking Taco Bell to remove this powerful weapon from their menu, so that it may serve our country without being served to our country.