My Fleeting Relationship with the McRib: A Retrospective
In my long, adventure-filled life, I have done many courageous things, and today, I partook in my first McRib. I recorded my impressions for my upcoming memoir Man, I Am So Freaking Awesome. Please enjoy this excerpt.
I am not a man who expects much from his food. I like my food to be simple and unassuming, but never before have I experienced a sandwich so unapologetic. Slathered in a delicious, sweet and tangy sauce, the McRib is tasty as a whole, but the flagrant “I am a cobbled together patty of meat” nature of the “Rib” was at once admirable and appalling. It seems to me that most sandwiches that require a mold try to mask that aspect of their nature. The McRib, on the other hand, calls out to you to take it as-is: A somewhat questionable conglomerate of meat, coated in a sauce that aspires to transcend fast food and transmute that compressed mass of mysterious animal flesh into a mind-blowing, revelatory flavorsperience. And although I would gladly bathe in that sauce, I do not think I can accept the call again. The McRib is not unlike the mayfly, fleeting and kind of gross when you put it in your mouth.
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