I grabbed Wendy’s double smoked bacon from the grocery store with genuine curiosity. When a fast food chain puts their signature ingredient on grocery shelves, you assume they’re bringing their A-game. They’ve built their reputation on those commercials and the premium upcharge at the drive-through.
So when I saw the retail package, I thought maybe I’d found something worth trying. A bacon that could compete with my go-to brands.
I was completely wrong.
Paper-Thin and Forgettable
The first thing that hits you when you open the package is how incredibly thin this bacon is. We’re talking hotel breakfast buffet levels of thin—that sad, see-through bacon that barely qualifies as meat. You know the stuff: those strips at continental breakfasts that look like they were sliced with a laser and have about as much substance as tissue paper.
The only difference is Wendy’s bacon isn’t quite transparent, but it’s close enough to make you wonder if you’re getting your money worth. Each strip feels fragile, almost apologetic in your hands.
Cooking it turned into an exercise in frustration. I aimed for that perfect crispy-but-not-burnt sweet spot, and the bacon responded by falling apart. The strips disintegrated at the slightest touch. This isn’t bacon you can flip confidently with tongs or transfer to a paper towel without losing half of it. This is bacon that crumbles and tears, leaving you with bacon fragments instead of strips.
For something marketing itself as restaurant-quality, it handles like bargain-basement stuff.
That Weird Aftertaste
Here’s where things get genuinely disappointing, and where this bacon crosses from “meh” into “actively bad.”
The smell when you first open the package is vaguely bacony—nothing exciting, nothing that makes your mouth water. It’s generic pork product aroma, the kind that suggests bacon more than delivers it. Not the rich, smoky scent you get from quality bacon that fills your kitchen and makes everyone wander in asking what’s for breakfast.
The taste starts okay because, well, it’s bacon, so it’s inherently goodish. Pork, salt, smoke flavor—the basics are there. But then comes this weird flavor on the back end that lingers in a way I can’t shake off. It’s not quite metallic, not quite chemical, but definitely wrong.
I checked the ingredients looking for some secret natural flavoring or mystery additive that might explain it, but nothing jumped out as obviously problematic. Standard bacon stuff on the label. Still, something’s off. There’s a distinct aftertaste that doesn’t belong in quality bacon, and it’s persistent enough to make me not want another bite.
This is the kind of flavor that makes you reach for water, that makes you wonder if the bacon sat too long somewhere or if there’s a processing step that went sideways. It’s the kind of aftertaste that ruins the whole experience, turning what should be a simple pleasure into a small disappointment.
When Thin Actually Matters (Spoiler: It Doesn’t Here)
Let’s be fair for a second. There is one potential upside: if you’re building a sandwich and want ultra-thin bacon that won’t overpower other ingredients, this technically fits the bill. It’s cut as thin as you can possibly get it.
In theory, thin bacon has its place. A delicate sandwich where you want smoke flavor without bacon dominating the whole bite.
But here’s the reality: your locally sourced bacon or Pacific Northwest artisan producers make thin-sliced options that actually taste good. They don’t come with that weird aftertaste. Local producers understand thin slicing, and crucially, their bacon holds together when you cook it. You get actual bacon strips that crisp up nicely and don’t leave your mouth confused.
The Verdict: Hard Pass
It’s genuinely rare for me to give bacon a negative review. Bacon is bacon—it’s supposed to be one of those guaranteed wins in life, one of those foods that’s hard to mess up even if you try. Even mediocre bacon is usually at least acceptable.
But Wendy’s is selling this purely on brand recognition, not on quality. They’re counting on you seeing their name, remembering those commercials about thick-cut premium bacon, and assuming that translates to the grocery store. It doesn’t.
This isn’t restaurant-quality bacon making its way to your home kitchen. This is thin, fragile, oddly-flavored bacon wearing a recognizable label.
Skip the grocery store gimmick. Support your local bacon producers who actually care about the product they’re putting out. Grab any other thin-sliced option from your regular brands—even the generic store brands might surprise you by being better than this. Your taste buds and your breakfast sandwich will thank you for not settling for brand name over actual quality.
Have you tried Wendy’s retail bacon? Drop a comment below if you’ve had a different experience—or if you know what’s causing that weird aftertaste.
