Now If Only They’d Bring Back The McDLT

It was a bad week for ‘80s-era icons here at Planet Moron.

First, our alma mater was rocked with scandal when it was revealed that legendary Penn State football coach Joe Paterno treated a credible eyewitness report that his long-time assistant had sexually molested a child with the same sense of urgency and moral outrage one would have accorded to reports that he had been discovered stealing ketchup packets from the dining hall.

Second, and perhaps even more grotesque and stomach-churning, I ate a McRib sandwich, currently making one of its rare limited-engagement appearances on the menu at McDonald’s.

Now, before you jump to conclusions, I should point out that I worked at McDonald’s in the summer of 1979, before the introduction of the McRib, and was impressed with the company’s focus on quality and extensive use of fresh ingredients. In fact, I had trouble convincing people that we used honest-to-goodness eggs that had to each be individually broken open to make Egg McMuffins as if they assumed that the yolk in the center was made out of some kind of advanced polymer (that’s what we put in the milkshakes).  No, in my experience, McDonald’s used a surprising number of wholesome ingredients as found in nature.

The McRib was not one of them.

While I never had the distinct honor of making a McRib (after all, I did not have a chemistry degree), I happily indulged in the BBQ-slathered pork-inspired product as a customer, purposefully ignoring the fact that the perfectly formed rib patty was totally devoid of ribs. I never questioned why they put pickles on it (Answer: Shut up, that’s why.) I simply allowed its processed goodness to caress my young palate, which at the time had all the nuance and subtlety of a Michael Bay movie.

And so this weekend, in particular need of the comforting embrace of nostalgia, I purchased my first McRib sandwich in nearly thirty years.

Hey, new packaging. I like it.

Now that really is a tangy temptation!

Okaaaay. Well, let’s take a good look at the side.

That doesn’t look anything like the picture. Fine, let’s open this sucker up…

Oh. My. God.  What kind of sadist would make this?  What hell-spawn jackal of a demon monster would ever…

Hm.  Not bad.

Okay, so the patty was pretty vile, and every time you crunch into an onion or pickle you think it’s gristle (It isn’t. I think.) but the bun was pretty fresh, the sauce was indeed tangy, and, well, it’s a McRib sandwich. Sure, it’s not as good as I remember it, just like the music from the same era wasn’t as good as I remember it either (Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car?  Really?).  But for a few moments there, Joe Paterno was respected, $200 billion deficits were considered “large," the damage Barack Obama could do was limited to poorly organizing a communty, the World Trade Center was standing, and I still had brown hair.

We will meet again McRib.

J.