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[The Ryan Dixon Line]- The McRib is Back- 2014 Edition

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INTRODUCTION TO THE 2014 EDITION

My journey to becoming a PhD in Pork Product and being hailed as the world’s foremost expert on McDonald’s legendary and enigmatic sandwich all began with a seemingly innocuous blog that I wrote five years ago arguing that the McRib, an object of both mirthless odium and near-religious devotion, was simply the Citizen Kane of rapidly-processed culinary cuisine.

Almost immediately after publication, I came to terms with the fact that this blog would probably sink to the never-to-be-read-again seabed of the fathomless internet ocean. But a year later, a reporter, working on his own McRib story for the Wall Street Journal, read the post and reached out to interview me. With the publication of that front-page article and a subsequent NPR interview, I stepped upon the national stage to take my rightful place as the Susan Boyle of fast foodies. (Google “Ryan Dixon McRib” and 29,500 results come roaring back at you.)

My fame reached its apex when, after following me on Twitter, a rep from McDonald’s personally reached out to provide me with a yearly allotment of fifty “Free McRib Passes” to share with friends, family and, most importantly, myself. Unfortunately, my instinct for self-sabotage proved greater than my hunger for BBQ pork product. My free ride on the McRib Express ended when, in 2012, I was quoted by NPR’s “The Salt” stating that McDonald’s quest to push the McRib from beloved cult item into mainstream favorite caused the sandwich to “jump the shark.”

Despite now being persona non grata at Hamburger Central, I still eagerly anticipate the annual arrival of those banners, draped under the Golden Arches, inscribed with that immortal phrase “The McRib is Back.”  And it warms my heart to know that in a period of great partisan divide, our nation is still able to come together and eat a sandwich that will fill the hearts of those who taste it with the splendor hitherto known only to suicide bombers who’ve been greeted by the 72 Vestal Virgins in Paradise.

THE FIVE REASONS WHY THE McRIB IS THE GREATEST FAST FOOD ITEM OF ALL TIME

1. The McRib is the Last of its Kind.

Ryan-McRib-pic1Let me come right out and say it: The McRib has no ribs. It is a patty of pork product with rib-shaped strips pressed into it. Even then, the rib-shaped strips don’t look like actual ribs as much as they do french toast sticks, yet that’s all the more reason to love it.

We live in an all-natural, organicized society where coastal dwelling disciples of the Michael Pollan cabal want their food farm fresh, free range and, whenever possible, real. In a world where McDonald’s now sells apple slices, KFC heralds its grilled chicken from on high, and Subway’s Jared has become the most famous calorie-killing Jedi since Richard Simmons, the McRib stands alone; a fast food Fortinbras.

The McRib’s annual re-appearance is a ghostly reminder of a time (known in some circles as the late 1970’s and 80’s) when synthetic, overtly unhealthy, “better than real” food was in fashion. All you really need to remember about the dietary choices of this era is that Country Time Old Fashioned Lemonade Drink Mix used the fact that it tasted just like real lemonade as a selling point.

The arrival of the McRib should be a cause for celebration, not scorn, for it bears witness, is in fact the last witness, to a woebegone age when we liked our fast food fake.

2. The Mysteries of the McRib are UnfathomableRyan-McRib-pic2

Nationally released in 1981, the McRib was originally a regular item on McDonald’s menu until low sales caused the restaurant chain to change its strategy and start bringing it out sporadically for a “limited time only.” For many years after the sandwich was paired each spring with the Shamrock Shake, but then that winning combo was discontinued without explanation and the McRib’s arrival grew ever more unpredictable– sometimes the sandwich wouldn’t appear for several years, then it’d be seen multiple times in the same year or, as was the case in 2006, its arrival was called a “farewell tour,” but it was back again in 2008 and has returned, more or less annually, since then.

While some saw this inconsistency as a misguided marketing strategy, others began to see patterns within the seemingly patternless morass, giving birth to a host of McRib conspiracy theories (including one that had McDonald’s basing the release of the sandwich on the price of pork) that would befuddle even Robert Langdon.

The enigma that is the McRib has also created so great an epidemic of rumors and apocrypha revolving around which locations are currently serving the sandwich that the website “McRib Locator” was created to separate the lies from the truth. Despite these heroic efforts, the mystery remains. The McRib is our first Cryptofood, a culinary cousin to the Sasquatch and Chupacabra, lurking within the restaurant of our imagination.

The ephemeral nature of the McRib also reminds us all of our own mortality. With each bite we both fall back into the past– to that rainy spring day when we ate them with a father now long gone or the romantic evening spent sharing one with a college-aged girlfriend still-missed– and dream about the future, pining for the day when a yet-to-be-born son unwraps his first McRib. When finished with the sandwich, we all pray that, in the final autumn of our lives, there will be enough time to take one last bite.

3. Eating a McRib Is Nothing Like Eating a Real Rib—and That’s a Good ThingRyan-McRib-pic3

How many times have you gone to a BBQ restaurant, saw the ribs on the menu, began to salivate at the thought of eating them, but stopped just as you were about to order upon the realization that by doing so the mess involved would cause you to end up resembling an underfed zombie who just dined on a trio of kids at a fat camp?

Like its younger, and more universally accepted cousin, the boneless buffalo wing, the McRib gives you the sweet barbecue tang of ribs without the threat of sartorial besmirchment. And, let’s face it; you get a hell of a lot more meat with a McRib than you do on actual ribs. It’s no contest really, you might wanna date real ribs, but you’ll end up marrying the McRib.

(What? You think that the McRib is actually the messiest fast food item of all time? Well, you’ll be happy to know that this year’s pork patty seemed decidedly smaller than the faux-balloon bread bun it rests between and the distribution of the sauce was far more judicious than in years past.)

4. The McRib is THE Polarizing Force in Fast FoodRyan-McRib-pic4

No one is ever neutral about the McRib. Go ahead; ask your friend, lover, parent or child about it and you’ll hear one of two things:

“I love it!”

Or

“I hate it!”

Let’s get real here folks, this isn’t an argument about whether BK’s Whopper or Wendy’s Bacon Double Cheeseburger is better, we’re in Republicans vs. Democrats, Sharks vs. Jets, Catholics vs. Protestants (circa 1600, that is) territory.

Developing the palette to enjoy a McRib is really no different from having dinner at Noma, gulping down a piece of fugu or munching on a pack of chocolate covered ants. Quite simply, this sandwich separates the posers from the true fast food connoisseur.

And now, for the fifth and final reason that the McRib is the Greatest Fast Food Item of All time…

Need. To. Eat. McRib. NOW!

[Desert Droppings] Salas, Shelfies, and Shlumpies

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Elitist, ostentatious, self-absorbed- a commentary on Gens X,Y, and Z; the Globals; the Millennials; the Digital Natives, or whatever the trendy term is for those under 50? No! I’m simply sharing my impression of the latest exhibit at the ABQ Museum of History and Art (known minimalisty as “aM”.) The exhibit, “Behind Closed Doors: Art in the Spanish American Home 1492-1898,”Cal Seething-051514-museum showcases paintings, furnishings, and household items owned by upper-class families who colonized the Spanish Empire in North and South America.
From huge, intricately carved frames, lavishly costumed Creoles (as American born Spaniards were called) cast their solemn, imperial gazes on us lowly art lovers.  Glamorously gowned ladies, their shawls fastened by silver pins the size of salad plates, sport black velvet beauty spots glued to their chins.  The gents in ornate military garb flaunt their long swords and pose Napoleon-style with a hand shoved chest-high into their jackets (a posture which today is more suggestive of skin rash, than status and style.) All are depicted in exquisite detail to show their wealth and social connections, their unspoken message being:
“Look at me! I’m gorgeous. I’m special. I’m rich and important and fashionable  and a member of the king’s club.  Oh, don’t you envy me?  Please…envy me!”
To be sure that these pompous Creole selfies were seen by as many of the potentially envious as possible, they were placed in the “Sala” – the grand reception room where visitors were received with pageantry and splendor.  According to the museum’s signage, “Salas were the home’s most sumptuously decorated spaces. There, affluence was flaunted…” No kidding!
No Ikea here! Salas were furnished with “solid silver furniture, imported silk wall hangings, and luxurious damask curtains.”

And then…I got back home and walked into  my sala/living room/office/great room- or more accurately, not- so-great-room.  How come all those pretentious Creole tchotchkes looked so precious and arty and desirably decorative  and my stuff looks like clutter?
How come visitors don’t gasp in awe and admiration at my floor to ceiling furnishings, but instead say things like:
“Wow! You’ve got a lot of um…interesting things here.  It’s a little hard to …er…absorb it all. Is that a metal rat?”
Or, as the cable guy, a native New Mexican remarked with a grimace, on spotting the tin lamp, pueblo pottery, kiva ladder, Navajo rug, and other Spanish Market and Indian Market finds:
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
Eeeeeek!  Was our East Coast enthusiasm  for New Mexico tourist art that obvious?!

To add to my dismay, and with my sala score sinking ever lower, I was confronted by the lead article in The Wall Street Journal’s Off-Duty lifestyle section entitled “Me, My Shelfies, and I.” It seems the shelfie is a new social media phenomenon among the trendy and upwardly egotistic. Shelfies are, of course, the knick-knack counterpart to selfies.  To make a shelfie, you design an Desert-051514-shelfie“artful” arrangement of prized possessions that grace the tabletops, mantels, and, yes, shelves in your mortgaged-to-the-hilt McMansion. Next, with your mobile device, you take a picture of said artful arrangement and send it to your multitude of friends and followers on Instagram. Your unspoken message being-

“Look at me!  I’m gorgeous. I’m special. I’m rich and important and fashionable…Please envy me!”
The article included a few choice shelfies: a bowl, a shell, and some ceramic thing that looked like a urinal. Ho hum. A pile of notebooks, a dish of office drawer dumpings, and a cup of pencils. Nu?  Hairy twigs in a misshapen pot. Really?  A pine cone, a plate of leftovers…
Hey! Shabby sala and all, I could get in on this!  If I just take a month’s worth of newspapers and magazines off the desk and clear away a mountain of winter clothes and blankets layered on the dresser like an archaeological dig and get rid of…Wait!  Who am I Desert-05151-shlumpie1fooling?  Why dust off the dresser and dig out the Dresden?  Show it like it is!  Forget the shelfies. Snap and share Shlumpies !  That’s right! Shlumpies! A photo of your possessions in all their earthy disarray on whatever surface they happen to be cluttering.  It’s Creole conspicuous consumption for the rest of us! I feel a trend coming on!
Shlumpies require no artful arrangement of rare and costly collectables or precisely posed platters and pincushions. To take a shlumpie, just point and shoot the stuff you already have. Receipts, mail, market flyers, and open cracker boxes scattered on the kitchen table – click!
A dozen wooden prairie dogs and two beaded lizards crowded on the shelf – send!  The miscellaneous junk you stashed in the hall closet when your mother- in- law dropped by – share!

And if The Wall Street Journal wants to do a a follow-up article, they’re welcome to step into my sala and snag a shlumpie. There’s Desert-051514-shlumpie2a million of them  just waiting for their digital close- ups.
Let’s get creative with clutter. Overflowing laundry baskets are the new opulence. Instagram, here we come!
Neat and narcissistic is so 15th century.

[Desert Droppings] Salud! An Abundance of Penguins- A Shortage of Limes

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I have a friend who is extremely knowledgeable about all things furry, feathery, finny, and slithery. He alerted me to the fact that April 25 was World Penguin Day.  Yippee! Here’s a holiday we can all add to our 2015 calendar.Desert- 043014- cookie
World Penguin Day requires no Divine Intervention. No one gets killed, conquered, or oppressed. No one gets rescued or redeemed.  There are no lengthy rituals to perform or lavish meals to cook.  World Penguin Day is just an enjoy-the-day-however DIY celebration.  Of course you could dress in black, white, and yellow and eat foods like deviled eggs with caviar or those big deli cookies that are frosted in chocolate and vanilla; or have gala gatherings with tuxedos required; and send “Happy WPD” cards; and decorate your lawns and rooftops with inflatable penguins; and if you’re really good, the Great Emperor Penguin will bring you gifts and bless you and…Gaaaaaaaah!  NO!  Don’t get all  Holy/Hallmark/HGTV about it!  Just relax, improvise, and enjoy World Penguin Day without greed and guilt gumming it all up!
Desert- 042814- penguins
Why celebrate penguins? Well, why not?  Penguins don’t devour our crops or spread the plague or gnaw on our garbage or crawl in our cupboards.  We don’t need them for food or feathers. Penguins, in turn, don’t need us for preservation and protection. Left alone, they socialize, migrate, and reproduce in a barren, frozen environment where we can barely survive.
Plus, they’re sooooooo cute!  What’s not to celebrate?
And – a big plus for this year, World Penguin Day festivities didn’t involve a single lime!
Penguins? Limes?  Did we miss something here?
Nope.  Just follow along, folks….
Both The Albuquerque Journal and The Wall Street Journal ( no relation whatsoever except for the word “Journal” which must Desert- 043014- limeabqmean “stuff printed on paper that can also be used to line critter cages”) – both these newspapers featured articles bemoaning the current lime shortage caused by Mexican weather problems and the resulting sky high price of the little green fruit.
Now, limes aren’t a major food group on my nutrition pyramid or pie chart or plate section or whatever graphic the government is using these days to remind us to eat healthy foods.
Remember, “An apple (or lime) a day keeps the insurance companies from bankrupting Medicare by getting reimbursed for pricey tests and treatments for those who’ve  over-indulged for years in the pizza-pretzel-Pepsi-pork rind food group.”

Anyway, for bars and Mexican  restaurants, the “great lime crisis of 2014” is catastrophic. Margaritas and many Mexican foods Desert--043014--wsjlimehave fresh lime juice as a key ingredient. In an effort to reduce fresh lime consumption, bars are even considering the use of pre-squeezed lime juice.  Apparently this is a horrific last resort akin to serving  vegan quinoa gefilte fish at the Passover Seder or “topiggy” soyham at Easter dinner.
Desperate bistros are slicing lime wedges  paper thin and making customers specifically request them with their meals ( and show a picture ID and sign a pledge to squeeze out every drop of juice  and eat the pulp) JK!  JK! (So far)
And to make matters considerably worse, Cinco de Mayo is fast approaching.
Unlike World Penguin Day, Cinco de Mayo (the Fifth  of May)  is a typical “We conquered – Let’s drink’n dine” holiday. This  Mexican festival, widely celebrated in the southwestern US, commemorates “the Mexican army’s victory over French forces at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862.” Wouldn’t you know! Battle, victory, army. Whee! It’s a holiday!
So here we are, 152 years later, glasses raised, facing the unthinkable prospect of a lime-challenged Cinco de Mayo. Viva! Salud! This Bud’s for you. Just doesn’t work!

And lest we overlook a chance to plug ABQ’s vaunted multicultural qualities, may I point out that our favorite Vietnamese restaurant was also caught up in Lime-Gate. (What did those lime-growing Mexicans know and when did they know it?)
As the waitress handed me my take-out Mi hoach hu tieu chay (vegetable noodle soup), she apologized repeatedly that there were no “lems” included. There was Thai basil, cilantro, and hot sauce, but no “lems.”
“Lemons?” I asked.
“No, no! The green ones, lems.”Desert- 043014- nolime
“Oh you mean limes.”
“Yes, yes. No lems today.”
“Ok, no problem, ” I replied blithely, not yet having read The ABQ Journal or The WSJ.
At the market, I discovered that limes which once sold for $.33 were now $.99! I bought a lemon instead.  Sometimes, we (sigh!) just have to make do.

So, save the lime! Raise your mudslides with whipped cream, your vanilla sundaes with dark chocolate sauce, your double stuffed Oreos.  Here’s to our frigid, flightless, friends. Happy WPD!
Mark your calendar apps. World Penguin Day is looking better all the time!