We tried: Hungry Jack's new vegan cheeseburger

But is it hot garbage? Two journos - one a vegetarian and one a meat-eater - put it to the test.

Serena Coady

I can’t remember the last time I went to Hungry Jack's. As a vego, my options are limited when it comes to greasy fast food but on a booze-fuelled evening it’s Maccas fries I turn to.

After today’s journey into Hungry Jack's Fyshwick in Canberra, I learnt that it not only had toasted sandwiches and egg McMuffin lookalikes, but it even had "deluxe" hot chocolates with cream on top. Not a meat-free paradise by any means, but clearly I wouldn’t be chewing my Birkenstocks in here.

While I'm no vegan I'm always keen to try new vegan offerings on the fast food scene. Just ask me who has the tastiest vegan cheese of Zambreros, Pizza Hut and Dominos and I'll tell ya! (None do.)

So how did Hungry Jack's go? Let's start on a cosmetic basis.

The box loudly greets me with an "Aussie Beef Guarantee". Hungry Jack's is taking baby steps on this vegan rollout.

Inside the cardboard ode to meat sits a decent-sized burger, smiling at me gingerly. The cheese remains firmly unmelted as most vegan cheeses require nuclear weapons to cause even the slightest consistency change. But as cheese takes centre stage in the burger's title, I am ropeable.

Beneath two slices of tomato and an afterthought of lettuce is the real non-meat hero, the patty. If you've ever tried vomiting into an egg ring and cooking it upon a grill, this is what it looks like.

Still, I'm delighted there's two of them. I'm a growing girl. But going back to the vegan cheeseburger being an "inclusivity win", why does the Veggie Whopper only have ONE patty, ey?

I bite the burger with the same softness, the same trepidation extended to a lover that I am kissing for the first time. The burger responds with more fervour. The bun tears raggedly, the cheese is slimy to the touch and it's pea city in that patty, despite the menu saying it contains only "corn, capsicum and carrot".

Still, I don't hate it. It's the same kind of deal you'd find at a fish and chip store or any place where a deep freezer of veggie patties is the hard limit of their vegetarian catering.

The vegan patty is the same as Hungry Jack's existing Veggie Whopper, but the difference between the burgers is that there's two of them and the vegan mayonnaise is nicer.

The burger is filling, so it presents a new late-night (read: point of desperation) vego option for me that isn't a tiny McMuffin.

Bree Winchester

Please read my critique with a bewildered and pained look on your face (and throw in the occasional dry retch). Because this was me for the entire 28 seconds I spent attempting to eat a Hungry Jack's vegan cheeseburger.

I don't really know what vegans do. Are they the ones who won't even come at a Filet-o-Fish or McChicken meal when they're hungover? Do they diss eggs and dairy? No clue.

Whatever it is, I don't trust them. Especially happy ones.

My vegan burger is cold and MASSIVE and dumped on my desk unceremoniously by my young, happy, good-looking and vegetarian colleague (read: minion).

I open the box and the trickery begins.

"100 per cent beef guarantee" says the box. "Yaaaaaaaas," says my meat-loving and thus hormonally-overcharged brain. And it smells like a beef burger. Gimme gimme!

But then I bite it and the gagging begins. Imagine two chunky pieces of round cardboard, with cardboard sauce and cardboard-flavoured lettuce on a bun. Delicious! Topped off with a piece of burnt Cling Wrap dyed yellow (it's cheese apparently). Yummo!

The questions fly furiously - if I'm eating cardboard, why do the patties look like chunky baby vomit (and I'm talking a baby with no teeth because those tiny vegetable pieces - peas, capsicum, corn? - are all INTACT). Why am I being punished? Why am I full after one bite? And is it really possible to describe yourself as "happy" in your Tinder profile when you're vegan?

I take one more bite just to make sure I do still have tastebuds. Same result.

The vegan burger being marketed to death and somehow dominating my Facebook and Instagram feeds (can't the algorithm tell my Sunday mornings are all about greasy sloppy bacon?) sails into the bin.