We ate the all-new, over-the-top, Minnesota-only McDonald's McGriddle sandwich

Press photos show the McGriddles® French Toast breakfast sandwich in its best possible light.

Press photos show the McGriddles® French Toast breakfast sandwich in its best possible light. McDonald's

Minnesota: 10,000 lakes, Prince, test kitchen for McDonald's new McGriddles French Toast sandwich.

Our state has many reasons to be proud! But for the sake of this article, let’s focus on that last point.

This week, McDonald's unleashed a new breakfast item strictly for Minnesotans. This is the McGriddle French Toast, a souped-up version of the Don’s already strange McGriddle that hypothesizes a world where syrup-brushed slices of French toast house egg, cheese, sausage, and bacon. At the moment, the Frankenstein is only available in select Minnesota markets, but if the sandwich satisfies locally, it’s expected to launch nationwide sometime next year.

The original sweet and savory McGriddle was released in 2003. Early advertisements for the curiosity may still ring in your mind like giant waving victory flags in the war on terror. Fifteen years later, we simple Minnesotans are privy to the bewildering update. So, is this exclusive sandwich worth giving a spin? City Pages ventured to the McDonald's on 24th and Nicollet hunting for answers.

This is... clearly food. The soft toast marinating in its own grease will give your hand the feeling that the thing you’re about to eat is enthusiastically sweating.

At first bite, the obvious impression is that the French toast bun is tremendously sweet. Sweeter than even the classic, circular McGriddle bun.

To me, this overwhelming sweetness is a bit of a turnoff. The taste is not far removed from that of Coca Cola. The inside of the sandwich packs the savory flavors of bacon and sausage in an attempt to stabilize the French toast onslaught, but this thing would probably need a beef bouillon cube at its center to balance the scale.

A few more bites in, at the moment when hunger is satiated, the sandwich loses its novelty and becomes just another massive collection of calories from the McDonald's corporation. The sensation here is that even though it’s new, I feel as though I’ve had it before.

An alarm is also ringing in my head that I’m actively doing harm to my body. The sandwich is then finished in haste, for the sake of journalism.

No, this is not a good sandwich. It’s a bad sandwich.

But it’s our bad sandwich, which gives it some dignity. And if you live in the metro area, you can humiliate yourself with it now—before the rest of the country has the chance to catch up.