ishmael n. daro

or: How I learned to stop worrying and love the McRib

If you’ve been watching television recently, you’ll know from the many McDonald’s commercials that the “McRib is back.” That’s right, the fabled McRib is back for a limited time, ready to clog arteries nationwide. A Google search returns thousands of results about the sandwich, many of which are fansites. Having been featured on David Letterman’s Top Ten lists and even garnering a parody episode on The Simpsons, this is one popular McSandwich that could probably get elected president if only it met the age requirements.

The mystery surrounding the sandwich starts with its ingredients. The patty is pressed pork meat that is shaped to resemble a rack of ribs. McDonald’s, seemingly aware of how weird this is, has created the fictitious Boneless Pig Farmers Association of America as part of its McRib marketing campaign. Ostensibly, it takes a sense of humour in order to explain the meat’s formation. These odd, rib-shaped, ribless patties are then slathered with barbecue sauce and served with pickles and onions.

The McRib was once a regular menu item in many parts of North America but gradually became a specialty item, reappearing every few years as a limited time offer. The reasons for this scarcity are unknown. It could be that an absurd food item such as this just isn’t sustainable over the long term; an educated people simply will not stand for such insanity. Incidentally, the perverse and often baffling nation of Germany enjoys McRib sandwiches year round. One thing is clear, however: the McRib is good for business. Loyal fans rush to restaurants and binge on McRibs before it disappears forever. And each time it disappears, others rejoice that an evil force has been vanquished. Even though McDonald’s pretends to do away with the McRib after each “farewell tour,” it’s clear that it will continue to make occasional appearances on their menu. That McRib fans and haters alike fall for this ploy each time is perplexing.

Even as I write this article, I’m mentally rearranging my week in order to accomodate a trip to the golden arches. Although I look forward to my inaugural McRib sandwich, I cringe at the thought of what it will do to my body. A look at the fast food chain’s nutrition facts, possibly referring to nutrition in a purely ironic way, shows the destructive power of the sandwich. The 580 calorie behemoth has 49 per cent of a person’s daily value of fat. Combine that with some salty fries and a sugary soda, and you’ve got a nutritionist’s nightmare. The McRib is worse than the Big Mac, the Big Xtra, and even the Quarter Pounder with Cheese, also known as the Royale with Cheese. You would have to eat six servings of cheesecake to do similar damage. Yet despite my misgivings about the McRib, I can’t wait to try one. You only live once, right? And if I develop an addiction to McRibs as many others have, I may not live much longer either.