Saturday, October 29, 2011

McRib is Back - Ulcers All Over America Rejoice


It's important that you know this about me: I have no problem whatsoever with fast food.  Sure, there are joints I like better than others, but generally speaking, the combination of inferior beef, two slices of orange cheese and a pile of salt has always been a go-to choice in the Crafty Southpaw's cuisiney lexicon.  A cheeseburger on a sesame seed bun - hold the onion and the pickle, please - goes down nice and easy. Yes, it's a relatively unhealthy choice, but who gives a fuck? My family's genes virtually guarantee a short life for me, and I'm as cool with that as I can be.  At 43 I'm more than 10 years past what my family calls middle age.  I didn't have a grandparent who lived past 76. My Dad came within a hair's breadth of dying at 68, and only made it to 75 thanks to large doses of the best that the American medical system has to offer and, it must be said, a slight dose of hypochondriasis that shuttled him to the hospital four times a year.

In short, life is short, so enjoy your time under the golden arches.  That's what I do.

Which brings us to the object of this post: the McRib.  An unassuming sandwich, the McRib is a hunk of pork pressed into the shape of a section of a slab of ribs - boneless, of course - slathered in barbeque sauce and sprinkled with slivered onions. They trot it out every half-dozen years or so and foist it on an unsuspecting public, putting it back in the vault a few months later.  The reason they do this is that they are taking advantage of the incredibly short memory of the American people.

Because, you see, the McRib is fucking nasty. But it sounds like it might be good.  So they release it, put McRib commercials in heavy rotation, and wait for everybody to order one. And when they do, they'll take four bites and throw it away with a look on their face that suggests they smelled something bad - which of course they did.

So I'll spare you the disappointment and the waste of four bucks: don't eat one.  They're nasty.  Order yourself a quarter pounder with cheese, or maybe, god help us all, a filet-o-fish. But stay away from the McRib.  It's pressed and formed and disgusting. And just to make sure, I'll be ordering one tomorrow. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to like it. But if it leaves a bad taste in my mouth I'll wash it out with a tall cool glass of McChicken.


  1. Awk -- I like the McRib! Of course, that is just because the sauce is great. Pour that sauce on a piece of cardboard (isn't that what a McRib is anyway?) and I'll eat it.

    Hey -- don't join me in the heart attack club!

  2. The McRib is tolerable as a change of pace.

    The Filet O' Fish, on the other hand, is not a filet, and likely not even fish. Rage against that abomination!

  3. @Light - yes, the sauce is ok, as barbeque sauce goes, but there's too much of it. Like there's too much tartar sauce on a F o' F, but whatever. And heart attack club? I'm a lifetime member, Sonny Jim. Heart attacks and strokes are the only thing that carry my people off. We don't get cancer or anything else; we die of heart attacks or brain attacks. It's the curse of the Eastern European Jew.

    @Grange - first of all, good to hear from you buddy! Secondly, a F o' F is one of my great guilty pleasures. As I mentioned above, there's too much tartar sauce but that's easily remedied: take a fry and scrape some off, and use it instead of ketchup. A matter upon which we'll need to agree to disagree...

  4. I agree with you about the F o' F, Gary. It's not realy like it is a fish sammich anyway. The steamy bun works well with it, and I like to take it home and add some fresh lettuce and a Claussen pickle slice to it.

    And sorry -- but you don't become an official member of the heart attack club until you've had one. I recommend you wait on that at least a tad longer.

    btw -- thanks for Theo!

  5. Never had a McRib sandwich or if I did it was so long ago that I don't remember it. It does bring to mind a story from my college days tho. I had a buddy from NYC who had no qualms about entering the less savory parts of town believing nothing the Midwest could offer could compare to the Big Apple. One day driving through what might be desribed as the urban section of town he sees a soul food joint and decides he wants to check it out. He comes back to the car and says he got us a couple of rib sandwiches. Opens his and takes a bite and damned near breaks a tooth. The rib sandwiches came with ribs still attached. Authentic ribs, no pressed and formed for these babies. OTOH they were damned good if very messy.

  6. The other day my son and his girlfriend ordered hamburgers at Sonic. They got their orders and looked inside the buns -- no meat!

  7. that's one way to avoid disappointment, to say nothing of salmonella, e. coli, or botulism.