The Verdict: Oink

You might have expected, after Morgan Spurlock's hilarious and scary "Super Size Me"--the 2004 documentary that charts his declining health on a steady diet of McDonald's--that the fast-food industry would be at least a little self-conscious about such offerings. Actually, no. McDonald's did begin to offer healthier menu options and retired the notorious Super Size option. But what has fueled McDonald's recent turnaround (revenues up 33% in three years) is the company's Dollar Menu, a smorgasbord of slow-acting poisons (trans fats, sugars, sodium and kilo-calories), marketed primarily at teenagers and minorities.

To keep pace with McDonald's, Burger King and Wendy's pumped up their dollar-priced menu offerings. Wendy's, deciding its Biggie drink wasn't biggie enough, recently began offering sodas in 42-ounce cups. Great, a beverage I can swim in.

In the face of criticism drummed up by "Super Size Me"--and the 2001 book "Fast Food Nation," the film version of which will appear in theaters this fall--the industry has executed a marvelous bit of jujitsu, marketing even more heinous concoctions as manly, red-state antidotes to froufrou girlie food that would be imposed by the meddlesome big-government lunch lady. I love the Burger King ad for the Texas Double Whopper in which a mob of men burns its tighty whities, waving signs that say "Eat This Meat" and singing, to the tune of Helen Reddy's "I Am Woman": "I am man, I am incorrigible, and I'm way too hungry to settle for chick food."

There is no shortage of fast-food travesties by which to be astonished. Consider the Carl's Jr. Double Six Dollar Burger, weighing in at a heart-plugging 1,420 calories, 101 grams of fat and 2.4 grams of sodium. A ballpark in St. Louis offers a bacon-cheeseburger served on a Krispy Kreme doughnut (which doesn't sound half-bad, actually). The Southern California restaurant chain The Hat serves French fries in a paper grocery bag and a Pastrami Burger the size of a moose's head. It's the only place I know where meat is a condiment.

Compared to these offerings, the Famous Bowls (710 calories, with 29 grams of fat and 2 grams of sodium) are relatively healthy. And so what if it's all in one bowl? NASA used to serve astronauts Thanksgiving meals in a squeeze tube.

And yet I remain appalled--as well as a little woozy from all the salt. It's one thing to say Americans eat like pigs, it's another to give it the force of literalism. But that's just what the trough-like Famous Bowls do. If there were a Food Court at The Hague, the Colonel would be in big trouble.