Dan Coudreaut was one of the nation's most acclaimed chefs. Now, thanks to his salads, snack wraps, and other McInnovations, he might just be the most powerful.
By Ivan Solotaroff; Photograph by Jesse Chehak
In a compact fourth-floor professional kitchen at McDonald’s sprawling corporate campus known as Hamburger University, in Oak Brook, Illinois, Chef Dan Coudreaut sweats a handful of shallots in olive oil with fresh thyme and tarragon, then adds a splash of cream to reduce for his ravioli sauce. To showcase the low cost, ease, and semi-prefab nature of this dish—call it Ravioli à la Ronald—Coudreaut is pressing wonton skins, not pasta dough, and brushing them gently with an egg wash made with water rather than milk, and his filling (fennel, stove-top-smoked chicken and bacon) and garnishes (pesto, tomatoes he’s oven-roasted for an hour at 250) . . . well, they showcase something of their own.
Fast Food Reviews
Domino's Mac and Cheese Bread Bowl
Grade: C-
This turbo-carbed heart stopper, bubbling over with cheese and penne pasta, was everything we expected it to be. We commenced chowing our way through the center, which was stuffed with a satisfying, if not especially adventurous take on mac 'n cheese and eventually tore apart the puffy crust. No kid in the world could pass this up. Our recommendation -- cut the pie into four pieces and enjoy a small portion. Sure, you could skip the extra starches altogether and order it without the bread bowl, but where's the fun in that?
McCafe Iced Mocha and Latte
Grade: A
One sip and we were hooked. A nonfat iced mocha loaded up with whipped cream was quite potent, with a strong aroma of Arabica coffee beans. To be honest, if we had been blindfolded, we wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between a Starbucks chiller and these eye-openers. They don't escape without some criticism; decaf is not currently an option. Lattes are, however, available with a shot of vanilla, caramel, hazelnut or sugar-free vanilla.
Wendy's Hand-Spun Twisted Frosty
Grade: A+
The Hand-Spun Twisted Frosty is perfection, and here's why: Most candied shakes only blend in one or two teaspoons of toppings (see: McFlurry). The Twisted Frosty, however, does not scrimp. They swirl in obscene amounts of toppings - nearly a 50-50 ratio of ice cream and candy, and the resulting maelstrom of flavor is all we've ever wanted from a candied shake. It's like drinking liquid Oreo! (Also available in equally delicious M&M and Nestle Toll House Cookie Dough.)
Rachel Been, AOL
Wendy's Hand-Spun Frosty Shakes
Grade: D
Wendy's, purveyor of the illustrious Frosty, has recently introduced two new varieties of their famous milkshake: The Hand-Spun Frosty Shake and the Hand-Spun Twisted Frosty.
Now, we love Frosty original. Its unparalleled vanilla-chocolatey thickness is the yardstick by which we measure all other fast food milkshakes. That said, these Hand-Spun Frostys are a downgrade. They start with a teeth-itchingly sweet vanilla Frosty base, then swirl in strawberry syrup (which tastes like Robitussin) or chocolate syrup (which tastes decidedly inferior to Frosty classic).
Next: Wendy's Hand-Spun Twisted Frosty
Rachel Been, AOL
McDonald's Filet-O-Fish
Grade: B
Remember the last time you ordered one of these? Neither could McD's, so they've whipped up a whole new wave of ads for their classic fishwich -- which so far as we could tell hasn't changed a bit in the decade or two since we'd downed one. The fried fish block melds softly into the featureless cheese slice, generous blob of tartar sauce and mushy bun with little to no variance in flavor or texture. Weirdly enough, this isn't a bad thing, but rather somehow comforting -- as if time had stood still. Now where's a McDLT when you need one?
Rachel Been
Wendy's Premium Fish Fillet Sandwich
Grade: B-
"Oh, it's made with real fish, right?" parroted just about everyone we polled. The ad campaign sure is working, but upon first bite our question is -- why make a big splash about real fish if it's not really good fish? The fillet we sampled was decently seasoned, but rather toughly breaded, stringy and swiped with a stingy bit of overly astringent tartar sauce. We applaud the effort, but this sandwich is gonna need some more schooling if it wants to swim with the big guys.
Rachel Been
Burger King Angry Whopper
Grade: A (if you're a chilehead) / F (if you can't take the heat)
Woah, BK -- simmer down now! What did our poor, innocent mouths (and digestive systems) ever do to you? With eight thick, unseeded slices of jalapeno, and very little else to soften the sting, this burger is more like a fraternity hazing than an item actually meant for human consumption. The little nibbles of bacon, fried "angry" onions and sweet "angry" onion sauce we managed before our tongues got their keisters whupped were holding hands and singing Kumbaya in comparison. Once the peppers muscled their way in it was impossible to concentrate on anything but the pain they packed. Even for a few hardcore chile lovers, it proved impossible to eat without an asbestos tongue. Seriously, BK, can't you enroll them in a yoga class? Spa retreat, perhaps?
Rachel Been
Wendy's Buffalo Dipped Chicken Sandwich
Grade: F
A fried chicken patty meets a sickly, stinging, neon orange sweet-and-sour sauce in a sandwich we wouldn't inflict on our worst enemy. One puckery, cloying bite scorched the throats of the testers and caused at least one to skip dinner that night. The taste of the chicken? We wouldn't know, because it was so completely overpowered, but it sure wasn't anything we'd call "Buffalo."
Keith Morrison
Burger King Mushroom and Swiss Steakhouse Burger
Grade: A-
After another burger chain's venture into mushroom-swiss terrain left our palates scarred, we were hesitant to sample another. But holy shrieking 'shrooms, were we glad we did! An intensely savory slathering of Worcestershire balanced a sweet kiss of BBQ sauce, and also seemed to nix the rubbery texture factor that plagues most mushroom-topped fast food. Swiss cheese and crisped-up onion were just barely visually evident, and played little to no role in the overall flavor. No matter -- that tasty meat slab totally ruled.
Keith Morrison
McDonald's Southwest Chicken Salad
Grade: B+
When we told our photographer this robust salad was from McDonald's, he nearly dropped his lens cap. Save for a few Titanic-sized chunks of lettuce core, vegetables (including roasted corn and tomatoes, tender, savory black beans and poblano peppers) held shockingly pleasant flavor and freshness, making for an appealing texture contrast with crunchy, zesty chili-lime tortilla strips and shreds of cheddar jack. We opted for the crispy chicken (the same well-seasoned patty used for their new Southern Style Chicken Biscuit and Sandwich), but a grilled cilantro-lime glazed version is also available. Additional dressing is eater-administered via a lime wedge and packet of Newman's Own Southwest Dressing.
We hope the folks at McD's are feeling their ears burn in the same pleasing way ours were after scarfing down this fiery and flavorful salad. More like this, please!
Nathan Ellis Perkel
It’s one of those perfect $18 haute American dishes. The lightness of wonton skins, the bold simplicity of the stuffing, the high-flavor notes of concentrated tomato and pesto, and the slight indulgence of a light cream sauce all alert the taste buds to that recently anointed fifth taste, umami—Japanese for “savory” or “delicious.” As I chew, Coudreaut eagerly digs his hand into a big bowl of . . . fries? Nope, it’s jicama dressed with lime juice, cayenne, and salt and cut to look exactly like McDonald’s fries—a sly epicurean sight gag.
About what you’d expect from someone who graduated first in his 1995 Culinary Institute of America (CIA) class and was chosen for the Nation’s Restaurant News “Top 50 Culinarians” list in 2003. But Coudreaut isn’t the French-born toque his name would suggest—he’s a former child actor (on All My Children) who developed an interest in cooking when he had to make beef stew to earn a merit badge as a Cub Scout in Ossining, New York. When he’s not in his chef’s whites, the back-yard-loving, Dave Matthews-listening, soccer-coaching suburban father of two seems more like a Michelin-tire guy than a Michelin Guide guy—and perhaps that’s fitting: This isn’t the Four Seasons (where he rose to chef de cuisine in two years), and this dish isn’t for restaurant critics. It’s for McDonald’s leadership council of owner-operators, meeting at the corporate HQ in two weeks, at the end of September.
Coudreaut won’t just be catering a business luncheon. As he has for four years, he will be selling the idea that fast food with fresh, healthy ingredients—whether that means edamame or just a better cut of beef for the burger—can be attractive to 27 million daily customers addicted to trans fats and empty calories. The pitch is made to his two immediate links in Mickey D’s vast supply chain: those franchise owners and the fellow cooks he shares this test kitchen with every day—executive chefs from Tyson (the supplier of most of his chicken), Cargill (beef, oil, eggs, salt), Sargento (cheese), Golden State Foods (sauces), and others. It’s a strikingly small operation: Using a six-burner Wolf stove, a compact oven, and a salamander broiler, Coudreaut brings menu ideas to the plate. Those that gain traction with the franchisees and corporate suits are translated into gold-standard exemplars and taken around the corner to Coudreaut’s fast-food kitchen—replete with griddle, grill, and deep fryer—where he tests the feasibility of replicating dishes in your friendly neighborhood Mickey D’s.
McDonald’s may be known, variously, for its cheery Big Mac and Ronald McDonald icons or its contributions to obesity in America, but its success lies in its ability to adapt to and control the massive forces above and below it in the global food market.
For Coudreaut, as for all great chefs, nothing is more important than the ingredients. But because of where he works, his every change of recipe affects thousands of careers and lifestyles, an $80-billion-a-year produce industry, and huge swaths of the agricultural map. His addition of apple slices (in salads and as an alternative to fries in Happy Meals) made McDonald’s the world’s largest buyer and seller of the fruit in 2005—it moved more than 55 million pounds. In 2006, when he introduced the Premium Asian Salad with Chicken, which includes a bag of Blue Diamond slivered almonds to top the greens, edamame, and mandarins, the nut company’s brand recognition shot up 12 percent. Thanks to Coudreaut, McDonald’s is also among the top five buyers and sellers of grape tomatoes, chicken, and lettuces (Southwest Salads use 14 different greens, which vary seasonally).
That massive scale limits creativity. So any thought of adding shrimp or fresh strawberries to salads, for example, or expanding regional McDonald’s items (like the lobster served in Maine or the biscuits and gravy down South) is a nonstarter, because national forays into such markets could drown them. “Avocado would be a natural for Dan,” says CIA president Tim Ryan. “But then how would the rest of the world make guacamole?”
Coudreaut’s innovations have certainly restored some luster to the Golden Arches. When he was hired in 2004, McDonald’s was reeling: A year earlier it had reported a $344 million quarterly loss (the first in its history), its image had been battered by Super Size Me, and Wendy’s was scoring P.R. triumphs by going green. Since Coudreaut was hired, the chain’s daily customer tally has gone up by 2 million and its stock has leapt from $20 to around $65 a share (as of early October).
It’s hard to judge a chef by the numbers, but Coudreaut can point to yearly sales of more than 350 million salads. Not exactly “99 Billion Served” yet, but enough to make Ryan, mentor to Anthony Bourdain and Rocco DiSpirito, call Coudreaut “the most impactful chef on the planet.” And, Ryan adds, “Dan’s real impact on McDonald’s—not to mention the way America eats—is yet to be felt.”
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