After a long day of tailgating and an even longer game last Saturday, it was decided that we should go to McDonald’s for a McRib. I don’t remember when I ate my first McRib, but I remember it as a special experience in what was only the beginning of a long and somewhat confusing relationship between man and food. In order to understand what I mean, you need some history.
Growing up in Bentonville, Ark., was in many ways idyllic. There was only one blinking red stop light downtown near the square. The rest of the town used stop signs to do the heavy lifting in traffic control. In 1979, there were two food franchises in town. One sold chicken and the other sold root beer. There was no McDonald’s, until my ninth grade year. The opening of the McDonald’s in 1980 was akin to the opening of a Disney World for those of us who loved the taste of Big Mac and the “better than life” fries.
The first big new food that I remember McDonald’s coming up with was chicken nuggets. I do not recall eating chicken nuggets until McDonald’s came out with them. I remember questioning whether there was really chicken in the nuggets. I did not really care, because whatever it was satisfied my need for fried food and fat. Chicken nuggets were the bomb – until the McRib hit the scene. In high school, I worked at a high-end barbeque and steak house in Bentonville. Fred’s Hickory Inn has ribs as good as any I have eaten. As employees, we often made our own rib sandwiches that were quite good. That being said, I still remember the excitement of all of us sitting around at work one slow Saturday lunch and feasting on McRibs that someone brought from McDonald’s.
I ate a lot of McRibs the first year or so they were out, then they went away. I admit, I had not been exclusive to the McRib. I had tasted around on other delights at McDonald’s, but the McRib was the food I turned to when I really wanted to be satisfied. Then there was my dalliances at other restaurants. Who can forget the summer of the “Burrito Supreme” at Taco Tico? Even though we were not as tight as we once were, the McRib, once taken away, was emotionally devastating to me.
Then, one day, it came back. I immediately ran out and got one and enjoyed it with a large frys. I ate the sandwich in-house. I have learned that the McRib tastes best when eating it inside McDonald’s. I don’t know what it is that makes it more special. Maybe it is the hard plastic permanent seating that is too close to the table for a bigger sized person to sit at comfortably. Maybe the truth is that it is very messy and not conducive to eating in the car. Whatever it is, I like to eat it in the restaurant. The weird thing was, I never went back. Not until the cycle repeated itself: they took it away and brought it back. I enjoyed my time back with the McRib, but once was enough. That is how my relationship with the McRib has been over the last 30 years. I like to go inside and eat one, but one is usually enough. I rarely return until the cycle once again repeats itself.
William, my oldest son, was with us when we went to McDonald’s. I made him try a McRib. I am not sure if that was really his first choice, but he was willing since it was what all the men were going to eat. As we ate the McRib, I noticed that William had taken the pickle and the onion off of the bun. I immediately made him put them back on in order to get the full experience. He begrudgingly did as instructed. My relationship with the McRib has again come full circle. I don’t think that William had the same feelings as I did about that weird piece of “meat” slathered with the sweet BBQ sauce. He may never have it again. That is not to say he did not eat it all, just that I don’t think he felt the love.
Some traditions are meant to be handed down from father to son. Other traditions die with the father. They don’t always die because the tradition is bad, sometimes they die just because they are not really all that good. The trick to life is recognizing the difference. That is true for everyone, even those of us way up in the CHEAP SEATS!