by Jim Gaffigan
Given all children’s obsession with McDonald’s, we shouldn’t be surprised that their spokesman is a clown. In a way it feels like they are mocking us, the consumer.
“Who should our spokesman be? Burger King has a king.”
“It doesn’t matter. These idiots are going to come here no matter what.”
“How about a rat?”
“No, not a rat. Too cute. What really freaks out little children more than a rat?”
“Um, a witch, a clown, a weatherman …”
“Let’s go with a clown with a creepy weatherman vibe.”
McDonald’s used to have a whole group of spokespeople. The Hamburglar, Grimace, Mayor McCheese, and others. I was never sure what Grimace was or why he was named after a pained facial expression. Maybe he represented the look on everyone’s face after they ate McDonald’s. Whatever the case may be, all the spokesmen disappeared except for Ronald McDonald. I think we have our suspect. Someone needs to call Detective Olivia Benson. Maybe they did a reality show elimination of spokespeople and Ronald won. More likely, it was a Destiny’s Child situation. Ronald was the breakout. The entertainment manager for McDonald’s characters was like, “Hey, you guys are all great. Grimace, Hamburglar, Mayor, we love what you guys do, but we’re thinking of going with just Ronald for a while. Maybe we’ll do a reunion tour at some point.”
All clowning aside, somehow McDonald’s gets us in there. We know those McDonald’s commercials are not realistic. I’d just like to see one commercial that showed people five minutes after they’d actually eaten McDonald’s. “Ugh, now I need a cigarette. I deserve a cigarette break today.” Yet we keep going back because the one thing McDonald’s does well besides fries is consistency. You know how much it’s going to cost. You know how long it’s going to take. You even know how sick you are going to feel after you eat it. We are also lured in by the McDonald’s deals that are so good they seem cruel. “Two Big Macs for Two Bucks.” I drive by and think, Well I don’t want to lose money on this. I’ll get eighty of them. We are further lured by the promotional games like Monopoly, even though we have no possibility of winning. “I got Boardwalk. All I need is sixty-three more pieces. You know, I could probably make some money here.” During the Olympics, commercials tell us that eating at McDonald’s is a way of winning free food and supporting Team USA. It’s like our own private decathlon of unhealthy eating.
There also used to be McDonald’s gift certificates. There was even a commercial where people were hanging McDonald’s gift certificates on their Christmas trees, just as Jesus would’ve wanted. When I was ten years old I was actually given McDonald’s gift certificates for Christmas by my mom. Yes, my own mother. I guess she couldn’t find gift certificates for a vending machine. I like to think it was her way of saying, “Merry Christmas. Here are some coupons for poison.” McDonald’s introduced the gift certificate prior to the obesity epidemic. I’m not saying that McDonald’s gift certificates caused the obesity epidemic, but in retrospect, the timing is kind of suspicious. It was a more innocent time back then. I remember there was another commercial where a kid gave Santa Claus a gift certificate. These days there would probably be public outrage and a demand that Santa be given a gym membership instead. “It’s abusive and enabling to give that to an obvious food addict.”
I’m sure some of you are reading this and thinking, Sorry, white-trashy guy. I don’t eat at McDonald’s. I have friends who brag to me about not going to McDonald’s. “I would never go to McDonald’s.” I always think, Well, McDonald’s wouldn’t want you because you’re a jerk. I’m tired of people acting like they are better than McDonald’s. You may’ve never set foot in a McDonald’s, but you have your own McDonald’s. Maybe instead of buying a Big Mac, you read US Weekly. That’s just a different type of McDonald’s. It’s just served up a little differently. Maybe your McDonald’s is telling yourself your Starbucks Frappuccino is not a milkshake, or maybe you watch those Real-Housewives-of-some-large-city shows. It’s all McDonald’s. It’s McDonald’s of the soul: momentary pleasure followed by incredible guilt, eventually leading to cancer. We all have our own McDonald’s. It may take me a decade to digest my Quarter Pounder with Cheese, but that tramp stamp is forever. In a way, it’s all McDonald’s out there in our society. Why can everyone name three people who have dated Jennifer Aniston? It’s McDonald’s! And we gobble it up just like those McDonald’s fries. “Who’s she dating now? Yum, yum, yum. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s so salty! Yum, yum, yum. Is she pregnant yet? That’s not even my business! Yum, yum, yum. Scarlett Johansson got a haircut! Why do I even a care?” Because it’s McDonald’s! McDonald’s of the soul. By the way, if you actually care about the British royal family, that’s Burger King. That’s not even our gossip.
I truly enjoy the societal outrage directed at McDonald’s: “McDonald’s food has no nutritional value! There are no vitamins!” I always imagine McDonald’s’ confused reaction to be “Um, excuse me? We sell burgers and fries. We never said we were a farmers’ market. Heck, our spokesman is a pedophile clown from the ’70s. What do you want from us, America?”
We treat McDonald’s horribly. We behave like hormonal teenagers dealing with their parents. “I hate you! You’re gross! When’s dinner? I have some friends coming over.” Really, going to McDonald’s is similar to attending a family reunion. You’re initially always excited to go. “This is going to be great.” Then, after you’re there for a while you think, I don’t know if I should be here. Then, when you’re driving back from the family reunion you’re thinking, I’m going to kill myself. I can’t believe I had to eat with that clown in the room.
We shouldn’t be so ungrateful. McDonald’s has given us so much. We wouldn’t know when breakfast ends without McDonald’s. I’d be eating eggs at 5:00 p.m. like a moron. Thank you, McDonald’s. How would we know Saint Patrick’s Day is coming up without the Shamrock Shake? Thank you, McDonald’s. Who’s going to keep all the cardiac surgeons employed? Thank you, McDonald’s.
Burger King
The thin, healthy, smart people are really missing out on some horrible food at Burger King. It’s so ironic that Burger King is called Burger King when McDonald’s is the true king of the burgers. Burger King is the imposter king. I realize there are likely Burger King fans reading this right now who will vehemently disagree, but my whole view toward Burger King seems to be an ongoing “What are they thinking?” It’s not as if I have that high of a standard for fast-food places, but it seems like Burger King purposely does it worse. Like when they are planning the recipe for their burgers and fries, the taste testers are saying: “No, no, no. This tastes too good. It has to be way more flavorless. Remember our motto, ‘Not as good as McDonald’s’? Let’s stick with that, people!”
Recently Burger King, a place that sells mostly burgers and fries, introduced the French Fry Burger, a burger with fries tucked under the top bun. Now, I know this concept has been done very well in some of my favorite regional sandwich shops, but on a burger at a fast-food burger place? It seems staggeringly uncreative. How lazy do they think we are? I’m pretty sure every single fast-food consumer at one time in their life put some French fries on a burger, usually when they were eight. Not a proud moment in anyone’s life, but at least we didn’t dedicate millions of advertising dollars toward telling people that it was an innovative new product called the French Fry Burger. I think you can order extra shame with the French Fry Burger. I guess “Have it your way” means “Have it the way you thought of doing it when you were eight.”
Wendy’s
If McDonald’s is the one true king of burgers, then Wendy’s is the king slayer. Wendy’s is just my all-time favorite of the big fast-food chains. It’s the high-end McDonald’s. In my heart I know it’s fast food, but I always think of Wendy’s as a real restaurant. They have a salad bar, chili, and free crackers. Maybe it’s the fresh, never-frozen ground beef. Maybe I’m drawn in by the “old-fashioned” slogan. Maybe it’s that smiling
face of the sweet, red-haired girl looking at me like, “Hi, I’m pale too. I’m your people. Now come on in and make yourself at home.” Wendy’s is the other woman in my life, playing hard to get with her delicious Frosty. Wendy’s Frosties, like the White Witch in Narnia, are dangerous. They are too thick to be a shake and served in a cup so that we can deny we are eating six scoops of melted ice cream. The Wendy’s Frosty goes down way too fast and easy. I have yet to eat a Frosty without getting a crippling brain freeze, or, as I call it, “the Frosty Headache.” Wendy’s is the best. I sometimes walk by Wendy’s and think, Shoot, I wish I didn’t just eat. But then I just get a Double anyway.
White Castle
Some people make fun of White Castle, and these people are called everyone. White Castle is just too easy of a target for comedy. They are famous for their sliders, and their initials are W.C., as in “water closet.” Insert punch line. Sack is an actual unit of measure in the kingdom of White Castle, as well as the way you will measure yourself after eating at White Castle. You can get a “sack” of Sliders, a “sack” of Chicken Rings, a “sack” of Clam Dippers, and, of course, a “sack” of Fish Nibblers. Are they serious? I’m not describing the products sold at the Krusty Krab in a SpongeBob episode. These products are really on the menu at White Castle, along with, for some reason, applesauce. I assume the applesauce is made fresh in individual restaurants with the same utensils they use to make the Clam Dippers. If any place is up to code on cleanliness, it’s White Castle. Good ol’ White Castle applesauce. I’m sure I’m not the only person who’s thought to himself, I could go for some applesauce. Well, off to White Castle.
I recently walked into the White Castle near beautiful Penn Station in New York City for lunch because I care that little about being alive. It had been a couple of decades since my last visit to the kingdom, so I was surprised to see that White Castle was still in business and even open during the day. I just assumed White Castles were legally allowed to be open only during those early-morning hours after all the bars in the city have closed, since there is a direct correlation between binge drinking and eating at White Castle. I was even more shocked to discover that the Penn Station White Castle offered seating for people to eat the White Castle food in the restaurant. I had never seen this before. I always assumed White Castle intentionally didn’t provide seating because they didn’t want you in the room when the Sliders kicked in.
There are many other fast-food burger chains. Here’s a quick overview:
In-N-Out: The California Shake Shack. Amazing fast-food burger, which is actually embraced by celebrity chefs and the good-looking me. Anyplace where you can get a burger “animal style” (cooked in a thin layer of mustard) is a place of magic.
Steak ’n Shake: This is one of the better ones, but it could be that I am just imagining it because the name is so good.
Jack in the Box: You have to admire the audacity of a place that serves a burger with something called “Jack sauce.”
Roy Rogers: Roy Rogers was one of America’s favorite cowboy singers. I only view Roy Rogers as a place to go when I’m looking for a fast-food place more disappointing than Burger King.
Sonic/Rally’s/Checkers: These places are great for people who really like to eat in their car.
Whataburger: The Texas Carl’s Jr.
Carl’s Jr.: The West Coast Whataburger
Hardee’s: The southern Carl’s Jr.
COMIDA RAPIDA
Given the power and beauty of Mexican food, it is surprising how few great Mexican fast-food chains exist. For every Chipotle there are a dozen Del Tacos. Of course, Mexican fast food would not exist without Taco Bell.
Taco Bell
I don’t normally fall for expert testimonials in advertising, but Taco Bell’s most well-known spokesperson was a dog. The Taco Bell dog would say, “Yo quiero Taco Bell,” which means, “I want Taco Bell.” Sure, it’s cool they found and hired a talking dog that spoke Spanish, but it’s not that impressive of an endorsement, considering it came from a dog and dogs will eat just about anything, including their own throw-up. I’ll never forget when I found out about the death of the Taco Bell dog. It was announced on CNN, and I remember telling myself, Wow, real journalism is dead.
It seems Taco Bell will do just about anything to get people into their restaurant, or, more specifically, their room with a microwave in it. None of the food is cooked at Taco Bell. It’s reheated and assembled on-site. Taco Bell is fundamentally one step up from an office break room. For a while there was a commercial actually promoting the “Taco Bell Diet,” which I’m pretty sure was constructed on the belief that once you eat Taco Bell, you won’t want to eat again. If you are going to Taco Bell for your diet, you have a bigger problem than your weight.
I NEED A HERO
Sandwich and sub shops have emerged as strong fast-food players. They can range in quality from Panera to Blimpies, but I still prefer a burger and fries. Here are two notable sandwich chains.
Subway
Subway is just the McDonald’s of delis. It is a fast-food sandwich shop that has positioned itself as the healthy alternative to the burger-and-fries places, which is already a turnoff for me. Previously, I brought up the Subway slogan, “Eat Fresh,” but if you’ve bitten into a Subway sandwich, you mostly think, not so fresh. Subway shops seem to be everywhere. It’s hard to walk a block in most major cities without passing a Subway restaurant. You’ve probably walked by and breathed in the bread exhaust that is pumped into the street. I always think, Ah, the smell of bread that was just baked in a dirty dishwasher. I never know if it’s making me hungry or concerned about the ozone.
All this being said, I still go to Subway, and not just because it’s fun watching a clinically depressed person throw together my sandwich. They are assembling my sandwich right in front of me. You’d think they’d do it with a little bit of flair. I’m not expecting the enthusiasm of a Benihana chef, but it’s always a little awkward while they sloppily slap the ingredients onto the bun. I usually stand there wishing the sneeze guard were facing the other way as I watch them do everything in those plastic CSI gloves. Those plastic gloves are always a little suspicious because they’re wearing them before they even start on my sandwich. “Let me just ring up this other guy’s order, tie up this garbage bag, scoop up these heroin needles … Now, what type of triangle of cheese would you like on your sub?” There are mice that would turn down that triangle slice of cheese at Subway. If you prefer your cheese melted, you can get your sandwich heated up in the crumb-filled toaster oven it appears someone stole from a dorm room. The Subway toaster oven always makes me wonder, Wait, is this even a restaurant?
Subway is another place that shows you how lazy we’ve gotten in our society. I can understand the appeal of fast-food burgers and fries. Who has the time to make a burger? Who owns a deep fryer? But we are too lazy to make a sandwich? “I could make a sandwich at home for like twenty cents, or I could watch this sociopath make it.” To be fair, the Subway employees are not sociopaths, but they do have that kind of faraway look in their eyes as they hold the squirt bottle of goo. “In my country I was attorney general. Would you like Santa Fe sauce?” (SOUND EFFECT: farting squeeze bottle)
You have to go through a bunch of steps before your sandwich is ultimately slid into that plastic Subway airsickness bag. The first step is, you have to pick out your bread. And by that I mean, pick out the color of your bread, because all Subway bread seems to taste the same. “Do I want the whole-wheat-colored bread? Or the Italian-colored bread?” After you select your bread you must identify the toppings you would like on your sandwich. Subway makes a big deal about how all the toppings are free at Subway. “Free lettuce? No way! How do you guys pay the rent? What’s next, free napkins?” I think the toppings are free at Subway to distract us from the fact that we should not be paying for the meat. Once I asked a Subway guy, “Is that chicken or a really old piece of ham?” Subway is also very stingy with their undesirable meat. It’s prepo
rtioned and peeled off like a Mafia kingpin wannabe handing out dollars. “Here’s three slices of ham. Get yourself something nice, all right? Don’t say I never did nothing for youse.”
Subway, like other fast-food restaurants, always has deals that they advertise as an incentive for eating at Subway. I had to hire a witch doctor to get the “Five-Dollar Footlong” jingle out of my head. I like cheap deals as much as anyone else, but I wish they would keep the word foot out of my food.
Someone told me they saw a Subway with a drive-thru. I’m not sure how that would even work.
SUBWAY EMPLOYEE: All right. Pick out your bread. Now drive up six inches. What kind of meat? Drive up six inches. Lettuce, onions? Oh, you want it toasted? You gotta circle back around.
Have you tried the soup at Subway? I’m not talking about the tuna salad. I always get the tuna sub at Subway, where they ladle the tuna onto the bread. The tuna is in that giant metal tub with the white puddle of tuna water, like a tuna gazpacho. Very appetizing. I’d love to ask them for a glass of that tuna water. Or maybe bring in a really long straw and just start drinking it. Too much? Did I cross the line? “I was reading this guy’s book until he brought up drinking tuna water. I found it offensive. My fiancé is allergic to tuna water. It’s nothing to joke about.”
Subway built its reputation as the healthy alternative, mostly through the successful weight loss of spokesman Jared Fogle. We all know the story. Jared lost all that weight eating only Subway sandwiches. This makes me kind of wonder what Jared was eating before he started going to Subway. Cases of doughnuts, maybe. We all like Jared. He seems like a decent guy, but deep down we all secretly want to see the fat Jared again. “Come on, Jared! We all struggle! Eat a burger!” I can’t imagine how desperate Subway must be to keep Jared thin. “Merry Christmas, Jared. Here’s another treadmill and bag of laxatives. Dig in, buddy. Do you mind if I leave this case of my diet pills here for a couple of years? Feel free to help yourself.” But Jared’s hung in there. He’s been a Subway spokesman for so long that there is a generation of kids who don’t even know about the fat Jared. I have a ten-year-old nephew who thought Jared was the owner of Subway. I explained that Jared “was a big fat guy who ate all these Subway hoagies and now he’s thin.” Even my nephew was like, “Well, that’s bullcrap.” I’m not saying Jared didn’t lose the weight, but I’m just suspicious that Jared hasn’t aged in fifteen years. I don’t feel sorry for Jared. I feel sorry for every other guy in the United States who happens to be named Jared. I’m sure some of them have started to tell people, “Actually, my name is pronounced ‘JeROD.’ ”