It doesn’t matter what size it is when it tastes like depression in a bun

It wasn’t always this way for MacDonalds.

MacDonalds. Industry heavy weight, guilty pleasure, nutritional pariah. How much has been blamed on those golden arches. Going into one is starting to feel a bit like going into a strip club or something. Actually people are more understanding if you go to strip clubs. It’s such a loaded decision, like smoking. You know it’s wrong, but every now and then…well you know. You can’t help it. It’s late, you’re drunk, and it’s there. You know that it’s not the best idea. You psyche yourself up. “I’m gonna eat something bad for me and it’s gonna be sooooo gooood.“

It’s becoming a way for chubby people to rebel. And that’s pretty sad, folks.

But let’s ignore the complex sociology and child rearing debates associated with MacDonalds and just focus on the point of something like MacDonalds. If you are going to eat something guilt inducing, shouldn’t it at least taste nice?

Let’s take a step back in history and remember the way we were. Ah, youth. Remember birthday parties spent, toys collected, and special moments. Remember it tasting good. Now I don’t think I’m alone on this, I remember it tasting good. It is definitely not the same. You would think that this would go against the whole principal of the thing, consistent food everywhere. This doesn’t taste like 1987! What in the hell is going on here?

So here’s the real trick of the mind. With so many things that we eat now almost entirely made up of flavors and fragrances that convince us of minutely subtle cues to not just “flavor”, but emotion, branding, time, place, how do I know what my own childhood actually tasted like?

If you want to really prove this to yourself, have Macdonalds anywhere else in the world BUT North America. You will be shocked. Two years ago, my husband and I were in Spain on holiday and after a very long morning hauling giant backpacks around, and a near desperate hunger looming, we took the (at the time) embarrassing step of getting MacDonalds in Barcelona. Up to this point we had enjoyed some of the best food of our entire lives. Food that was an absolute revelation. The seafood alone on this trip has never been topped by anything I have had since. So we felt a bit sheepish, almost like we were insulting Barcelona, copping out with Mackie Ds.

The restaurant itself was immaculate, clean, and modern. The line took awhile, longer than back home. This was because the staff was actually looking at the orders they were putting together, being thorough. By the time we sat down, we were crazy with hunger. We opened up our little cardboard boxes to find…symmetrical, tall, proud burgers, hot fries. But what struck us was not just that the food did not appear to be intentionally ugly. It tasted…like food. The milkshakes tasted unmistakably like milk and actual chocolate and vanilla. The beef in the burgers tasted like beef. I have never experienced anything like it. Here’s the really confusing part. It tasted like it did when I was a kid.

My childhood tasted like actual food. Raspberries, Oysters caught on the beach and roasted on a campfire, carrots from the garden. You can’t recreate the actual subtleties of real food. I understand that fast food needs to enhance, equalize, brand their food with flavorings that unify and create their distinct taste. But you don’t have to strip everything that was there to begin with.

Thank goodness for these interpretations of American culture all over the world. You can’t help it. For example, the Japanese now order KFC on Christmas Day. That’s their interpretation of a piece of American culture. And it makes perfect sense, American KFC with American Christmas. English Starbucks serve Victoria Sponge cake in the pastry case, something you wouldn’t find anywhere else in the world. You can’t take the food culture of Spain out of the equation when the Spanish are serving something American. Their respect for food is intense. So intense that it manages to shine though even in a Big Mac.

Do we not love food? Do we not care? Do we not even want JUNK FOOD to taste good? Forget globalization, complete lack of nutrition, dodgy employment practices, food production practices that are contributing to the destruction of the environment, etc, etc. Stop eating fast food because it doesn’t even taste like a guilty pleasure anymore. It doesn’t taste like anything. When you feel like a guilty pleasure, it should at least leave you feeling a bit smug, not hollow and wondering if life is worth living at all.

A suggestion for those nights that you are very drunk and needing something else to feel guilty about in the morning besides the sad sack of humanity that you probably just made out with? Find the dirtiest Donair Kebab place you can find and go big. Extra garlic mayo too. You will still feel like shit tomorrow, but at least you will enjoy that Kebab.