It has been sixteen years since I last bit into a Big Mac with its special sauce, beef, cheese, lettuce, pickles, onions, and sesame seeds.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/file:mcd_big_mac.jpg
Growing up in the 1980s, McDonald's was an essential part of my life. Before anyone in my family thought about ingredients and calories, the golden arches represented a place where we could find a delicious meal at a price my parents could afford - Datsun and Pinto friendly. These restaurants were everywhere, seemingly popping up all around us. Despite the chaos in our household, we always knew what to expect on the standard menu - burgers, nuggets, golden fries, fountain sodas, ice cream, and hot pies.
Then, one day in the late '80s, I came across a McDonald's Flexi-Disc contest in the local newspaper. I popped the disc into the record player and began to sing, the words flowing from deep within my gut:
Big Mac, MC DLT, Quarter Pounder with Cheese, Filet-O-Fish, Hamburger, Cheeseburger, Happy Meal.
McNuggets, delicious golden fries, regular or larger sizes, and salads: Chef Salad or Garden, or Chicken Salad Oriental.
Large Breakfast, Egg McMuffin, Hotcakes and Sausage. Maybe Biscuit, Bacon, Egg and Cheese, Sausage, Danish, Hash Browns.
And desserts Hot Apple Pie and Sundae, three varieties, one Soft Serve Cone, three Milkshakes and Chocolate Chip Cookies.
Then drinks Coca-Cola, Diet Coke and Orange Drink, Sprite and Coffee, Skim Milk, Low-Fat Milk, and also Orange Juice.
I loved the good times at McDonald's, where I got all of this.
(Note: If you want to hear this recording: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8efteze088 )
Even though the record clearly told me, “Sorry, the person listening to this record did not win the grand prize,” I thought that if I remembered the lyrics, I would surely win in another way.
Back at school, my best friend Kimberley greeted my self-satisfaction with a knowing smile. “So, let me guess, you didn’t win.”
“Not yet, I said. Is that right?”
She crossed her arms. “No one wins. My mom says no one wins these contests.” Kimberley knew all our parents, and her mom was the one we went to for verified information.
I thought for a minute and realized I needed a pivot. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would they put the record in the newspaper, huh?” I thought I had her there. “Besides, there are lots of winners, and we can win by having our moms take us there to eat.” Kimberley looked at me, and I continued, “You know you want to try the new McChicken sandwich.”
“Maybe I could ask, but I just want fries and a chocolate milkshake.”
“Cool. Tell your mom, ‘Good times, great place, that’s why this is our place.’” I did a little spin and licked my lips in the process.
Years later, Kimberley and I were high school students with cars and open lunch periods. Every day, we would meet at the school bell for lunch and figure out a place to eat. I would look for any opportunity to get off campus.
I started saying, “So, I know hummus and pita are really good, but if we don’t go... we’ll never win...”
Kimberley fiddled with the keys, pulling the white turtleneck from her neck. “June, is it Monopoly time again? We can go, but as you know, we won’t win.”
I jumped into the passenger seat of her red Chevrolet Nova, buckling my seatbelt before she changed her mind. “If we don’t enter the contest, we won’t win. Plus, I want to see if they’ve gotten rid of the Styrofoam containers.”
When we arrived, I pulled open the glass door with the metal handle, the smell of fries wafting into my nostrils. Hungry people formed lines behind the counter, and I rushed to claim my spot. “Can I order for you, can you get us a table?” I hoped she would get a coveted booth that would allow me to stretch my short legs during lunch. “Let me guess your order: Quarter Pounder with Cheese Meal and a Coke.”
“And you’ll get a Big Mac.”
“Yes. Today, I’ll also get an apple pie because we need more game pieces. Give me your money, and I’ll get you change.”
Kimberley rolled her eyes. “Fine, but don’t expect to win anything.”
I paid for the food and returned to the table, Kimberley making change on the brown plastic tray. “Looks like they just wrapped the sandwiches in paper instead of distributing boxes in the restaurant. Do you want to check if we won first?”
“It’s up to you; I doubt you’ll wait.”
https://www.flickr.com/photos/cups/529212601/in/photostream/
I pulled out a McDonald's Monopoly game board from my pocket. I said, “I picked this up on an earlier trip.”
“Is this when you told your mom you’d clean her car and drive it to McDonald's?” Kimberley knew a lot about my life.
“Maybe, but I did clean the inside of the car first.” As I spoke, I peeled the wax paper from the back of the sticker and revealed it. “Oh, oh, Sundae! I won! Look, this is the greatest place. Now, I’m going to eat.”
https://www.reddit.com/r/nostalgia/comments/nc5of1/mcdonalds_packaging_from_the_early_90s/#lightbox
With that, I unwrapped the Big Mac and brought the sandwich to my mouth. As my fingers flattened, I could smell the chopped onions. A bite and special sauce dripped from the corner of my mouth. For a few minutes, I couldn’t think of geometry, didn’t remember who was dating whom, and didn’t recall the last fight I had with my mom. At that moment, everything was blissful, and I still had fries and Coke.
When I finished, Kimberley looked at me and her watch. “We need to hurry. The fourth period starts in less than fifteen minutes.”
I felt satisfied but tired. My fingers and face were still greasy with ketchup. How could she think about moving now? I awkwardly set down the remnants of my meal and the tray. “I think I’ll get a sundae next time I visit. Maybe Friday? After all, Monopoly is only for a limited time.”
In the following years, I noticed that after eating any fast food, I felt bloated and drowsy. However, my love for McDonald's did not diminish. When I became a mom in my teens, with money being tight, I saw McDonald's as an easy option. I could feed myself and my daughter a meal, buy a toy, and sometimes provide her with a place to play. I was a cool single mom, busy balancing work and making my daughter feel like she fit in.
In the mid-1990s, a huge value meal (including large fries and a medium drink) cost $4.59[1]. It didn’t include the cost of Pepto Bismol that I often needed afterward. I still felt happy about that special sauce on the sesame seed bun, which outweighed any discomfort. Since I didn’t believe I had any food allergies and was thin, my diet and food choices weren’t a consideration.
It wasn’t until over a decade later that anything made me consider my diet. I was asked, “How’s your gut?” during a visit with a new doctor. The doctor was conducting an intake process to determine how best to treat my multiple issues.
“A little leaky,” I made a face.
“Well, we need to fix your gut so that medications and supplements can work properly.” She interlocked her fingers. “When your gut is healthy, nothing is wrong, but when there are issues, it leads to diarrhea, bloating, and many nutrients not being absorbed.” She looked at me.
I nodded, trying to joke. “I eat like candy clinically.”
“Imodium or any anti-diarrheal medicine isn’t meant for long-term use. How long has this been going on?”
“Well.” I tried to recall. Even as a child, my stomach had issues.
Before I could respond, she began, “I want you to cut some things out of your diet immediately: gluten, processed foods, fast food, sugar. I’m not sure about dairy, but we might want to eliminate that too.”
I heard it. McDonald's and my precious Big Mac.
“I want to see you in a month to see how you feel and if some of your stomach issues improve.”
On the journey home, every McDonald's I passed felt like my future diet would look very different. However, I felt desperate and curious if the dietary changes would make any difference. So, my husband, the cook for our family, set about preparing home-cooked meals that catered to the dietary restrictions, primarily consisting of proteins and vegetables.
The first few weeks were tough, and I found myself craving various forms of sugar and gluten. Things I had never thought about for years suddenly danced before me - candy at the grocery store checkout, glazed donuts at the bakery, and garlic knots from the pizza place.
I tried to focus on everything outside of food: work, my kids, volunteering, and regaining health in new ways. Then, the day before returning to the doctor, I realized and turned to my husband. “You know, I haven’t had any Imodium all week. Is that crazy or what?”
“Wow. Does that mean you’re forever done with those foods? Can McDonald's survive without its most devoted fan?”
“Funny. But I don’t know, maybe this is the new me?”
The doctor was pleased with my progress and suggested I stick to the plan. Months went by, and I tossed the remaining Imodium. I felt a newfound energy instead of wondering why my midsection felt painful. Unbeknownst to me, years passed. The rest of the world began to catch up with gluten-free options, but I found that the simplest protein and homemade vegetable recipes were the best fare.
Then, one day, when my son was about five, he asked, “What’s that big yellow thing?” My husband said, “Well, we don’t know.”
I turned to both of them and said, “No, you should go. Even if I can’t go, it’s still a special place.” I imagined my son’s joy as he tasted his Happy Meal.
When they returned, I asked my son what he thought. “It was okay.”
“Don’t you think it’s good?”
“Not really. Dad does it better at home.”
And with that, the glass door and metal handle closed.
[1] https://www.eatthis.com/big-mac-cost/