McDonald’s: A (Falling Out of) Love Story
Why do the things we loved as kids not stand the test of time?
When we met, it was fireworks.
The first taste: sugar sweet. Tangy, salty, soft, more: tastebuds recognising desire for the first time.
Covert meetings before school. Chocolate sundaes kissed on a spoon. The heartbreak of 11am. The soothing balm of apple pie. The fries, the fries, the fries.
You never forget your first love.
But then somehow, gradually, painfully, the shedding of that adolescent skin; a fading of affection. Visits becoming less frequent, fuelled only by alcohol and nostalgia. A warm rush of recognition followed by the cold pangs of regret.
Over and over.
Less and less.
Until one day I found myself, McChicken in hand and the taste of cardboard in my mouth, wondering: had I changed, or had McDonald’s?
Does McDonald’s Taste Different? A (Not Very) In-Depth Internet Investigation
I was holding the ruins of my childhood in my hands. I wanted answers.
And I wasn’t the only one.
In the vastness of McDonald’s complaints I found on the internet, this Reddit user summed it up best:
“When I ate at McDonald’s as a kid, it tasted like victory. Now, eating at McDonald’s tastes like defeat.”
Could it be that I was onto something? That in a world where Maltesers chocolates are definitely not as big as they used to be, there exists a much more sinister conspiracy that only the elite few uncover: the fast food of our childhood is not the same as that which we’re served today?
I needed proof. And then I found it. There, right on the internet for everyone to see: a recipe change for McDonald’s fries, which used to be cooked in beef tallow. Replaced with vegetable oil. Vegetable oil!
We were kids, we thought our cardiovascular organ was shaped like a love heart. What could early onset obesity do in the face of pure adoration? What right did McDonald’s have to deny us our future heart attacks? If the fries had changed, what else were we being cheated on?
I pondered the implications. Millions of children around the world, suffering. Never truly feeling the ‘happy’ in Happy Meal.
But then I imagined a world where balance was restored. The golden fries of my youth, rising again like Jesus on the third day. Would I still want them? Would it still feel like the first time?
Broken Toys and Lost Joys
Had I changed or had McDonald’s?
The truth is, we both had.
I’d experienced other burgers. Bigger buns, different meat. My tastes had evolved and grown more complex. Sometimes I didn’t want a burger at all.
There was no rekindling that flame. No fountain of youth that could rehydrate my McChicken. The apple pie of knowledge had been tasted and it had ruined me. And made me whole.
Adulthood is littered with the decaying corpses of childhood joys. Santa, birthdays, school holidays, all smote in ashy ruin. A series of once-solid belief pillars — that you can be anything and your parents can solve any problem — bombed and smouldering in the wreckage. And there, in the distance, light flickering for the last time, the crumbling yellow arches of an M.
And yet, in spite of everything, in the death row of childhood I will ask you to grant me one last request:
1x sausage and egg McMuffin
2x hash browns
1x hot chocolate, small
Close your eyes, breathe it in and remember the good times. Because god-damn, they were glorious.
