Top secret
Spilling the beans on 'secret menus'
By Albert Ching
aching@azstarnet.com
Tucson, Arizona | Published: 05.31.2007
Amid all the ongoing hubbub over In-N-Out Burger coming to Tucson, there was a lot of talk about its "secret menu" — getting burgers "animal style," "4x4's" and so on.
This reminded me of a blog post I read on The Consumerist (consumerist.com) while goofing around on the Internet at work a few weeks prior, about how several chain restaurants actually have secret items.
Think the long-forgotten pizza sub at Subway, candy-flavored smoothies at Jamba Juice and so on. So I set out to do a little investigative, John Stossel-style (sans 'stache) reporting, to find out if you can really get this stuff around town.
Subway
2245 E. Irvington Road.
The item: Pizza sub. Once part of Subway's main roster of sandwiches, it disappeared about the time the restaurant went all health-centric (how the meatball sub manages to stick around is a mystery). Features pepperoni and marinara sauce.
The price: $3.49 before tax.
The results: I roll up and confidently ask, "Hey, do you guys still do the pizza sub?" The champ behind the counter doesn't even blink and immediately gets to preparing the sandwich. Upon eating it, though, I can see why it's not on the menu anymore. There are like nine pepperoni slices on it, and maybe it's just my imagination, but I could swear I felt my arteries hardening with every bite.
Chipotle
905 E. University Blvd.
The item: Chicken quesadilla. Normally a quesadilla is nothing out of the ordinary, but Chipotle is known for its bare-bones menu of soft tacos, hard tacos, burritos, burrito bols and salads.
The price: $2.25 for the quesadilla (made with a burrito tortilla) + $1.50 for chicken = $3.75 before tax.
The results: Much like In-N-Out, Chipotle's secret menu is about as big as its normal one — other than quesadillas, there are also nachos, individual tacos and more. As a noted Chipotle enthusiast, I've had the nachos before but was itching to try a chicken quesadilla (presumably, they can also do it with any of the other meat they have there, or just cheese). It's so good that I tell them they should have it on the menu, to which the kindly lady who prepared my food wistfully says, "Hopefully, it will be, someday."
Jamba Juice
943 E. University Blvd.
The item: Pink Starburst smoothie. According to what's out there online, Jamba Juice is just about the holy grail of secret menus, with more than a dozen secret smoothies.
The price: $4.30 before tax.
The results: I ask the gal behind the counter to level with me and tell me how many off-the-board smoothies they can make. She rattles off a list — White Gummi Bear, Red Gummi Bear, Pink Starburst — and although none of them sound that good, I eventually settle on Pink Starburst. It tastes — wait for it — like a pink Starburst candy, albeit in liquid form. And instead of being done with it after a few seconds, I have a giant cup of it. Tasty, sure, but probably a little too sweet for most palates.
Blimpie
3820 S. Palo Verde.
The item: Cheese trio. Much like the aforementioned pizza sub, this triumvirate of cheeses was once a "real" menu item but eventually faded into relative obscurity.
The price: $3.99 before tax.
The results: The first potentially hostile restaurant. After I order the cheese trio, I'm met with the response of, "What's a cheese trio? I don't know what that is." Luckily, a co-worker sweeps in and advises that a cheese trio does, in fact, exist, and tells her how to make it (it's provolone, Swiss and American cheeses). It's a pretty simple little sandwich and a good choice for lacto-ovo vegetarians, so I wonder aloud why it's not on the menu anymore. "People only order it once in a blue moon," says the co-worker who knew about the sandwich. Well, I guess that's why.
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