I Can Run, But I Can't Hide From the McRib

Kim Conte
24

mcribI liked it better when The McRib was hard to find.

It used to be that the barbecue sandwich with the cult following was elusive -- available only to a select few who knew where to find it. But as we all know last week, McDonald's reintroduced the popular product to outlets nationwide.

McRib devotees are thrilled that at least for a little while they have nonstop access to their favorite food. But, frankly, the fact that the McRib is now ubiquitous is driving me a little nutty simply because it's making it all the more difficult for me to forget my awful afternoon with the gloppy pork-like product.

Allow me to explain:

I can't remember ever eating the McRib; so, last week when the product became available at the McDonald's near the office, I rushed over with an unenthusiastic coworker in tow to see what all the excitement was about.

I purchased exactly the sandwich that everyone has been furiously tweeting and writing about: A pork patty shaped like a rib cage, slathered in barbecue sauce, topped with two pickles and a mess of raw onion, all served on a bun.

I was neither overwhelmed nor underwhelmed by the eating experience -- I was just sort of, well, whelmed. Aside from the fact that it was way too messy and saucy (just ask my coworker who I thought I was going to have to hose down after lunch), the McRib didn't taste like much of anything.

In fact, it reminded me of those hoagie sandwiches we used to eat in high school. It wasn't just the taste that was similar, it was the entire build-up: You'd stand in the lunch line forever with the other kids, excited about the sandwich, but then when you actually ate it, you'd ask yourself, "What in the world is the big deal?"

But this was all pre-digestion, mind you. Post was an entirely different story -- a nightmare even.

Fast forward a few hours later: I'm sitting in the middle of a meeting with my coworkers when my blood sugar crashed, my hands started shaking, and I had that feeling where you just want to crawl out of your skin and leave your body behind. Add that to the fact that I couldn't get the taste and smell of the McRib out of my head -- the gristly fat of the mystery meat, the syrupy tang of the overflow of sauce, those two pickles -- and you have one sick and miserable food writer.

The only thing that would cure me? An intense spinning class later that evening at the gym so I could sweat out the poison. I'd almost consider a lobotomy if I knew it would rid me of the memory of that painful hour.

Obviously, I've recovered enough to type about it. But now, every time I see someone eating a McRib -- which is a lot! -- I'm automatically transported back to the afternoon of evil and that's when my gag reflex kicks in.

Please go back to wherever it is that you came from, McRib. I don't know how much more I can take.

Do you like the McRib?


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