A few years ago, I was talking on the phone with someone who was in a really cranky mood, when suddenly I heard the words “hey, what are your top five favorite sandwiches?” exit my mouth. It was not voluntary; the words just appeared in my head and then materialized outside of it. He was incredulous at first — what did this person just ask me? — then snarky — does a hot dog count as a sandwich? — then eventually he eased into the prompt, and we ended up having a meandering conversation that remains one of my favorite hours of talking to anyone, ever. Since then, I’ve made more of a point to find opportunities to insert potentially inane prompts like this one into conversations. Not everyone is up for it; it takes a certain level of trust in your interlocutor and a willingness to suspend whatever preconceptions you might have about practical ways of talking to someone to engage in what could seem like a pointless or even stupid exercise.
Some people, though, dive right into it. My friend Peter is one of those people. Several months ago — I don’t remember what we were talking about — our conversation landed on him telling me about his ideal McDonald’s orders. At one point, he told me he ordered his milkshakes without whipped cream, and when I asked him what he did about the cherry, he said something so poignant we both agreed it needed to be captured forever. I won’t give it away. Read Peter’s McDonald’s soliloquy below, and follow him on Twitter for more fast-food takes and writing on labor issues in the U.S.
There is one simple and incredibly tasty fact in life: McDonald’s is fucking good.
The more negative people in our lives might try to mock our taste buds, warn us of our poor diets, say things like “that’s not going to sit well,” and they are all wrong. McDonald’s is really good, and no matter the naysayers, I’ll keep eating it. I’d be remiss in not mentioning that they are a multinational corporation with virtually unchecked power, and eating there would be much more enjoyable if they shared the fruits of their workers’ labor with, well, their workers. (See: my rejected “McDonald’s for All” pitch to Jacobin Magazine.)
I have been eating at the Golden Arches, as my mom always called it, since I was a little kid. In the backseat of my parents’ minivan, I’d put the pressure on my mom to drive through on our way home. And if we were lucky enough to actually stop inside to eat, maybe get some time in the PlayPlace? Pure bliss.
From a young age I knew exactly what my heart desired, and so for the past six or so years, my order has stayed pretty much the same. If it’s breakfast time, and my budget is not an issue, then there really isn’t much of a decision to be made. I’m getting two breakfast sandwiches. One sausage-and-cheese McMuffin, no egg. That’s right. No egg. And you have to specify no egg because they don’t actually sell a breakfast sandwich that is just meat and cheese. It’s either just the meat or the meat, egg, and cheese. I have been harassed both in person and online because I’m brave enough to say that eating an egg from McDonald’s should be illegal. I am very particular about eggs and rarely eat them if they aren’t home-cooked. It’s just a food so delicate, so already unpleasant in its texture, smell, sound, and appearance that you really need to play it safe when eating them. Eggs prepared in a microwave, as they are at McDonald’s, are a total non-starter for me.
After I put in an order for a McMuffin, the most compact and sacred marriage of grease and salt on God’s Green Earth, I treat myself. I order a sausage-and-cheese McGriddle, no egg. A little breakfast dessert: dots of maple syrup injected into pancake bread with sausage and cheese in the middle. Something so comforting I could die eating it.
Now, with my morning food order finished, before I move on to my choice of beverage for a McDonald’s breakfast, I feel the need to address one glaring absence: the hash brown. I don’t have much to say about this other than, yeah, it’s good. I didn’t care for it much growing up, and once I could really appreciate it, it was too late to incorporate it into my regular order (with all due respect).
Time to wash it all down. You might be like me, a real “my coffee needs a coffee” kinda guy. Unfortunately, that just doesn’t enter the equation on my typical McDonald’s breakfast run. There are only two acceptable beverages in this situation; in special circumstances you can order both. The first, a harkening back to my sweet, sweet childhood: the often overlooked but always satisfying Chocolate Milk Jug. A cold and creamy drink to take you all the way to heaven after your food-induced death. The second, a classic: the humble orange juice, which tastes purest when dispensed from a McDonald’s fountain at 10:30 in the morning and passed through the drive-thru window — not dissimilar from the transubstantiation of the Blood of Christ during a Catholic Mass.
Now, on to the lunch and dinner order.
I order the same thing for both lunch and dinner. Like breakfast, it’s basically a fixed menu for me. If I have enough cash and the room in my stomach, the extra add-on is four to ten chicken McNuggets — a McDonald’s classic. There is only so much originality you can bring to this, but I’ve found one simple way to enhance the outfit. Sauce. You have no choice but to order some BBQ sauce. It’s what you have to do. The thing is, you can’t stop there. Expand your imagination. Add honey mustard. Mix the two sauces. You've just recreated the famous Chick-Fil-A sauce without the homophobia. Congrats! It’s a wonderful way to enjoy an already delightful meal. But this is neither the main nor the most controversial part of the dinner. What happens next is important, so pay close attention.
I order two plain cheeseburgers, just meat, cheese, and bun. I would not eat any other burger dry like this, but McDonald’s cheeseburgers are not just any other burger. There is a certain dryness to their patties that paradoxically elevates them beyond the need for moisture. I then proceed to set aside one side of the burger buns, preferably the top bun, which has to be handled with extreme care so as not to take the slice of American Cheese with it. This move should be left to professionals like me. Then, I carefully combine the two burgers to create what might be the pinnacle of food: two beef patties, each paired with a slice of American cheese, alternating with three perfectly toasted buns. This assembly, understandably, always elicits the same three questions in the same order. First an exasperated and general “what?” followed by a befuddled “why not just order a plain Big Mac?” and finally a more practical “what do you do with the extra bun?” Disregarding the first question entirely, I will explain that perhaps my favorite food group is the humble bread. So I eat the extra bun, a wonderful treat for me to enjoy before the burger. As for the Big Mac Question, there is one subtle but key difference between my creation and McDonald’s signature burger: the type of bun. The Big Mac comes on a sesame seed bun, while the cheeseburger comes on a potato bun. Which one of those buns is generally tastier is beyond the scope of this writing, but at McDonald’s, it’s so clearly the potato bun. (Writer’s note: if there is leftover makeshift Chick-Fil-A sauce, I may occasionally dip the burger in that for some extra flavor.)
I do not order a drink for lunch or dinner at McDonald’s. I do, however, order a chocolate milkshake with no whipped cream. I leave off the whipped cream because it typically ruins the integrity of the milkshake, throwing off-balance the delicately weighted blend of vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup. It becomes a dairy overload. A maraschino cherry also typically comes on the milkshake, but they don’t always add it when I specify no whipped cream. While I love maraschino cherries as much as the next guy, when I ask for a milkshake without whipped cream, it’s not up to me whether it’ll come with a cherry. I leave the cherry up to fate.