Losing the Golden Arches
Why I’m no longer lovin’ it
It’s been sixteen years since I last bit into two beef patties, cheese, lettuce, pickles, onions, and a special sauce on a sesame seed bun…
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:McD_Big_Mac.jpg
Growing up in the 1980s, McDonald’s was integral to my life. Before anyone in my family thought about ingredients and calories, the Golden Arches restaurants represented a place where we could find a delicious meal at a price point even my parents, with their beat-up cars — a Datsun and Pinto, could afford. The restaurants were ubiquitous and seemed to pop up everywhere we went. While many things were chaotic in our family, we always knew what to expect on the standard menu — burgers, nuggets, golden french fries, fountain sodas, ice cream, and hot pies.
Then, one day in the late 80s, I came across the flexi-disc million-dollar contest McDonald’s record in our local newspaper. I popped the disc into my record player and began singing along to words that came from down deep in my gut:
Big Mac, Mc DLT, a Quarter-Pounder with some cheese, Filet-O-Fish, a hamburger, a cheeseburger, a Happy Meal.
McNuggets, tasty golden french fries, regular or larger size, and salads: chef salad or garden, or a chicken salad oriental.
Big Big Breakfast, Egg McMuffin, hot hot cakes, and sausage. Maybe biscuits, bacon, egg and cheese, a sausage, danish, hash browns too.
And for dessert hot apple pies, and sundaes three varieties, a soft-serve cone, three kinds of shakes, and chocolatey chip cookies.
And to drink a Coca-Cola, Diet Coke, and orange drink, A Sprite and coffee, decaf too, A lowfat milk, also an orange juice.
I love McDonald’s, good time great taste, and I get this all at one place.
(Note: If you’d like to hear this record: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8EftEZE088)
Even though the record clearly told me, “Sorry, the person listening to this record didn’t win the big prize,” I reasoned that if I memorized the lyrics, I’d surely win in some other way.
On returning to school, my best friend Kimberley greeted me with the smug reassurance of a tween with expert knowledge. “So, let me guess, you didn’t win.”
Hopeful, I said, “Not yet. Did you?”
She crossed her arms. “No one is going to win. My mom says that no one ever wins at these games.” Kimberley knew that of all our parents, her mom was the one we went to for verifiable information.
I thought about it for a minute and realized I needed a pivot. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would they put the records in the newspaper then, huh?” I thought I had her there. “Besides, there are lots of winners, and we could win by getting our moms to take us there for dinner.” Kimberley eyed me, and I continued, “You know you want to try the new McChicken sandwich.”
“Maybe I can ask, but I just want the fries and a chocolate milkshake.”
“Cool. Tell your mom, ‘Good time, great place, that’s why this is our place.’” I did a little twirl and licked my lips in the process.
A few years later, Kimberley and I were high school students with cars and an open lunch period. Each day, we’d meet up as soon as the school bell for lunch chimed and figure out a place to eat. I would look for any opportunity to get off school grounds.
I began, “So, I know hummus and pita are really good, but we’re never gonna win if we don’t go to…”
Kimberley fiddled with her keys and pulled her white turtleneck away from her neck. “June, is it Monopoly time again? We can go, but as you know, we’re not going to win.”
I jumped in the passenger’s seat of her red Chevy Nova hatchback, buckling my seatbelt before she changed her mind. “We won’t win if we don’t play. And besides, 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, and the smell of french fries wafted inside my nasal passages. Hungry people formed lines behind the counter, and I ran ahead to stake my place. “Want me to order for you, and you can get a table?” I hoped she’d get the coveted booth that would allow me to stretch my short legs out in front of me during my post-lunch food coma. “Let me guess your order: Quarter Pounder with cheese meal with a Coke.”
“And you’re going to get a Big Mac.”
“Yup. Today, I’m also going to get an apple pie because we need more game pieces. Just give me your money, and I’ll give you change.”
Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Fine, but don’t expect to win anything.”
I paid and returned to the table with our food and Kimberley’s change on a brown plastic tray. “It looks like they’re just wrapping the sandwiches in paper instead of handing out boxes in the restaurant. Do you want to eat first before seeing if we won anything?”
“Up to you; I doubt you’ll wait.”
https://www.flickr.com/photos/cups/529212601/in/photostream/
I pulled a McDonald’s Monopoly game board from my pocket. “I picked this up on an earlier trip,” I said and winked.
“Was this when you told your mom you would clean her car and drove it to McDonald’s instead?” Kimberly knew way too much about my life.
“Maybe, but I did clean the inside of the car first.” As I talked, I peeled the wax paper off the back of the stickers, and the Monopoly properties came into view. “Oooh, oooh, a sundae! I won! See, this is the greatest place. Now, I’ll eat.”
https://www.reddit.com/r/nostalgia/comments/nc5of1/mcdonalds_packaging_from_the_early_90s/#lightbox
With that, I unwrapped my Big Mac and brought the sandwich to my mouth. I could smell the finely chopped onions as my fingers flattened the sesame seed bun. One bite and the special sauce was dripping from the corner of my mouth. I zoned out. For a few minutes, I couldn’t think about geometry, couldn’t remember who was dating who, and didn’t recall the last fight I had with my mother. At that time, all was bliss, and I still had the fries and a Coke.
When I finished, Kimberley looked at me and her Swatch watch. “We need to hurry up. Fourth period starts in less than fifteen minutes.”
I felt satisfied but tired. My fingers and face still had the residue of oil and ketchup on them. How could she conceive of moving now? I lumbered up from my seat and deposited the remnants of the meal and tray by the garbage. “I guess I’ll get the sundae on our next visit. Maybe Friday? After all, Monopoly is only around for a limited time.”
Over the next few years, I noticed that I felt bloated and lethargic after eating any fast food. Yet, my fondness for McDonald’s hadn’t lessened. When I became a mom in my late teens, money was in short supply, and I identified McDonald’s as an easy option. I could feed myself and my daughter a full meal, get a toy, and sometimes offer her a place to play inside. I was the cool single mom who was too busy balancing work and making my daughter feel like she fit in.
In the mid-1990s, a Big Mac Value Meal, including large fries and a medium drink, cost $4.59 [1]. It didn’t include the cost of the Pepto Bismal that I often needed afterward. The joy I still felt from that special sauce on a sesame seed bun 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.
Nothing caused me to consider my diet until more than ten years later. I was asked, “How is your gut?” at a visit with a new doctor. This doctor was conducting an intake process to determine how best to treat me for multiple issues.
“Kinda leaky.” I made a face.
“Well, we need to repair your gut so that the medicine and supplements will have some effect.” She interlocked her fingers. “When your gut is healthy, nothing can slip through, but when there are issues,” she said as she moved her fingers apart, “you get leaks like you are experiencing. This results in diarrhea, bloating, and many nutrients not being absorbed.” She looked at me.
I nodded and tried to joke. “I eat Immodium like candy.”
“Immodium or any antidiarrheal medicine isn’t meant to be used long term. How long has this been going on?”
“Umm.” I tried to think back. Even in childhood, my stomach had had issues.
Before I could respond, she began: “I’d like you to immediately cut a few things out of your diet: gluten, processed foods, fast foods, sugar. I’m not sure yet about dairy, but we may want to eliminate that, too.”
I gulped audibly. McDonald’s and my precious Big Mac came to mind.
“I’d like to see you in a month to see how you’re feeling and whether some of your stomach issues have improved.”
On the ride home, every McDonald’s I passed felt like a reminder that my future diet would look very different. However, I felt desperate and was curious whether a diet change could have any effect. So, my husband, the cook in our family, set out on a quest to prepare home-cooked meals that met the rigors of the diet, comprised primarily of proteins and vegetables.
The first few weeks were hard, and I found myself craving sugar and gluten in all forms. Things I hadn’t thought about in years suddenly danced in front of me — candy at the grocery store check-out, glazed doughnuts in the bakery, and garlic knots from the pizzeria.
I tried to focus on everything but food: work, my kids, volunteer activities, and regaining my health in new ways. Then, one day before returning to the doctor, I had a realization and turned to my husband. “You know, I haven’t had any Immodium all week. Is that crazy or what?”
“Wow. Does that mean that you’re done with these foods forever? Will McDonald’s be able to survive without their most dedicated fan?”
“Very funny. But, I don’t know, maybe this is the new me?”
The doctor was pleased with my progress and advised me to stick with the plan. Months passed, and I threw out the remaining Immodium. I felt like I had newfound energy that wasn’t spent wondering why my midsection ached. Before I knew it, years passed. The rest of the world started catching up with gluten-free options, yet I found that the simplest protein and vegetable recipes made at home were the best fare.
Then, one day, when my son was around five, he asked, “What’s that big yellow M?” My husband said, “Hmm, we have no idea.”
I turned to both of them and said, “No, you should go. It’s still a special place even if I can’t go.” I imagined my son’s joy at tasting his first bite of his Happy Meal.
When they returned, I asked my son what he thought. “It’s okay.”
“You didn’t think it was good?”
“Not really. Dad makes better burgers at home.”
And with that, the glass door with the metal handle closed.
