McHeartache

I have officially re-joined the Human Race... I have eaten at McDonald's again.

I have a long history with McDonald's. I think it begins in a similar fashion to most people, the 'Golden Arches' being the pan-ultimate birthday destination as a 4 year old. Then evolving to the greasy lunch spoon where I would go with high school friends to chow down on some cheap grub.

My relationship with McD's got a lot more intimate in my 16th year of life. It was then I proudly donned a visor and began working at one of the McDonald's in Prince George. It was the humblest of beginnings. The average shift would include toasting buns, grilling the meat, then spending 2-3 hours hunched over the back sink wearing an inverted garbage bag and washing grease covered fry vats.

Ah, I miss the good'olde McDays.

After I retired from my McCareer, my relationship with Ronald has turned cold and distant. It's my fault really, I have turned my back to the warm hug that was Combo#5 (AKA: the 2 cheeseburger meal). Instead looking for greasy love in all the wrong places... cheap Chinese takeout and $1 pizza joints. I began to wonder, was the food at McDonald's as bad as I had imagined or was I simply being McBitter?

So it was with mixed emotions on Sunday night that I broke my 6 year McAbstinence and entered a pit-stop McDonald's on Highway 401 to re-live the magic of my youth. I was a bit nervous to be honest. What if I eating this makes me nauseous... do I really want to be McChucking on the side of the highway? Or worse, what if I really like it? What if all these years I had been denying myself a pleasure that millions are experiencing each day?

I treated myself to the 'Filet-o-Fish' meal, which included a very large box of fries and a waxy pitcher of Coca-Cola. It was edible. There were no chest-seizing convulsions. I would go as far as saying that the sweetness of the coke nicely complimented the saltiness of the fries. But ultimately it was rather anti-climactic. The fish was bland, the fries were kind of cold, and I couldn't even get half way through the jug of coke.

It is with McBittersweetness that I continue my search for a greasy hand to warm my organic artichoke heart.

So I bid my Ronald another tragic farewell... some McLove isn't built to last.