Our restaurant critic taste-tested McDonald's new Big Macs – and lived to tell the tale

The burger: It was a first for me. Last weekend, instead of immediately tossing it into the recycling bin with the rest of the circulars, I set Parade magazine aside and later read it, cover to cover.

Parade? Yes, the celebrity-heavy magazine that's included in the Sunday edition of the newspaper where I am employed. As it turns out, the timing was fortuitous, because the magazine had a feature-ette on the McDonald's Big Mac.

Here's the news peg: McDonald's offers three versions of the Big Mac, and chose this week to roll out the new initiative on a nationwide basis.

Not to worry, the tried-and-true Big Mac will remain untouched. It now lands in the middle of a tripartite Big Mac growth curve. On the slimmer side there's the Mac Jr., which features a 1/6 lb. patty, and arrives minus the extra layer of bread (it's pictured, below). On the heftier end, there's the Grand Mac, a gluttony-inducing monster that features two 1/6-lb. patties and a plus-size bun. (For comparison's sake, the plain-old Big Mac is a pair of 1/10-lb. patties).

Propelled by that fascinating information, I headed to the McDonald's closest to my home. I don't recall the last time I tasted a McDonald's burger of any stripe, but I'm guessing that probably 20 years, or more, have lapsed. (That doesn't mean that I don't occasionally drop in McDonald's, because I do; see Fries, below, and don't make me confess to the number of Egg McMuffins I've consumed in my lifetime). Bottom line: a person can do so much better than a Big Mac. And people deserve better.

That's not to say that there aren't reasons to marvel at the company, which operates somewhere around 14,000 outlets just in the U.S. alone. Here's one plus: plenty of gifted chefs got their starts at McDonald's, including Mike DeCamp at Monello and Stewart Woodman at Lela.

The young crew behind the counter couldn't have been more friendly. Super-helpful, too; for a company that seemingly has every marketing detail nailed down, and then some, it was weird to scan the menu and not find the words "Mac Jr." and "Grand Mac." I had to ask.

Here's the thing: the burgers looked good. McDonald's obviously figured out a long time ago that we eat first with our eyes. And the idea of a Big Mac is genius, because its combination of beef, bread, lettuce, pickles, onions, a creamy sauce and gooey American cheese is fairly unbeatable.

But, ick. The thin, rubbery, insipid patties tasted of nothing but sodium, and were lukewarm at best. I could see evidence of char from the grill, but did my taste buds detect it? Nope.

The sauce was little more than a big blast of sugar, aka high fructose corn syrup. From the looks of it, the sesame seed-flecked bun had been toasted -- the inside surfaces bore browned traces -- but it was spongy and dry, and the bun-to-beef ratio was way, way, way out of whack.

But it looked good! That's all that counts! A major disappointment was finding that McDonald's is losing at its pickles game. Hello, it's not so complicated, making a good pickle. Besides, a good pickle can be a burger's saving grace, and if the Big Mac -- Jr., Original Recipe or el Grande -- is lacking something, it's a saving grace. Come on, McDonald's, try harder. Profits are up. Spend some of that dough on pickles, and the investment will pay off.

Three bites in and contemplating my upcoming stomach ache, I began to consider what the Big Mac doesn't have -- ingredients-wise, anyway -- and that's tomatoes. It's wise that the Big Mac has never relied upon tomato slices, because why subject your customers – and your worldwide reputation – to the vagaries of production on a fruit that, let's face it, really only should be consumed during the short mid- to late-summer stretch on the calendar that coincides with peak tomato season. Tomatoes are a primary component in the Whopper, and it dawned upon me that that's maybe why McDonald's has always dominated Burger King in the Burger Wars.

And this is not a condemnation of all fast-food burgers. Far from it. My Burger, the locally owned quick-service burger chain, doesn't offer a version of a Big Mac. Still, I'd much rather stick with its "double Original" burger, and forgo the slight differences. Yes, there's a price to pay. At roughly $9, the "double Original" runs slightly less than twice the cost of a Grand Mac, although My Burger throws in a generous handful of fries. Really good fries. Besides, the world does not revolve around Special Sauce.

Price: $2.19 (Mac Jr.) and $4.79 (Grand Mac).

Fries: Extra ($1.49), and fantastic, the ideal confluence of crisp, piping hot, salty and inexpensive. They're the French fries standard that all other fast-fooders are measured against. If I had complaint, it's that they were slightly undercooked. But that's a minor one.

Instagram goes crazy: I love how Saint Dinette chef Adam Eaton goes deep into fast-food homage mode with his "Mac Daddy." It's a dead ringer for the Big Mac (only, I imagine, far more delicious, given that Eaton is the grillmaster behind one of the Twin Cities' most epic cheeseburgers), and I love how it becomes a social media starlet the moment it becomes available, which is 9 p.m. on Saturday evenings. The bar will toss in a Hamm's for an additional two bucks. My next free Saturday night? I'm so there. To reiterate: the Mac Daddy is available Saturday nights after 9 p.m., only.

At the movies: The story of Ray Kroc, the man who took the McDonald's name and franchised it around the world, is told in "The Founder." Michael Keaton plays Kroc. The film opens in the Twin Cities on Jan. 20; read my colleague Colin Covert's 3 1/2 star review here. Another source for details into the company's early days is "Ray & Joan: The Man Who Made the McDonald's Fortune and the Woman Who Gave It All Away," author Lisa Napoli's recently released biography of Kroc and his second wife (and West St. Paul native) Joan. The couple met while Joan worked at the Criterion in St. Paul, and Ray was a frequent customer.

Delligati died in late November at the age of 98, and his obituary (written by former New York Times restaurant critic William Grimes) is fascinating.

Anyone who grew up in the 1970s and watched television will be able to recall the earworm-inducing advertising campaign that listed the burger's components: "two all-beef patties, Special Sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame-seed bun."

The Big Mac was an instantaneous smash (original price: 45 cents). Within a year the sandwich was featured on the menu at every McDonald's, and by 1969 it accounted for 19 percent of the company's total sales. Today, McDonald's sells about 550 million Big Macs each year just in the United States, and hundreds of millions more overseas.

Mr. Delligati is also responsible for introducing the Hotcakes and Sausage breakfast meal to the chain. And in case you're wondering, yes, there is a Big Mac Museum. (And if you want to recreate Special Sauce at home, here's a tutorial).

As the creator of what is arguably the most famous burger in history, Mr. Delligati surely cleaned up financially, right? Nope. The company expressed its everlasting gratitude with a plaque.