I'm (Occassionally) Lovin' It!

Literally everyone loves McDonalds fries

 The world is a glorious place full of wonderful new foods to try. I fancy myself an adventurous eater, so I like to partake in the local cuisine of every land I visit. Fried grasshoppers in Vietnam? Pass 'em here. Roasted guinea pig in the mountains of Peru? You bet your ass I had seconds. Deep fried pigeon blood cubes in London? Ordered it...but definitely switched to the chicken fried rice after I realized that the pigeons were collected in a net from Trafalgar Square. Even I have limits.

But as anyone who's ever spent too much time on the road has learned, after a while even the most delicious foreign delicacies lose their appeal. You miss potable water that doesn't require antibiotic ice cubes. You dream of a turkey sandwich that doesn't have a random pink sauce coating each layer of under-toasted, bleached-flour white bread. You crave the steak-and-potatoes lifestyle that has coated your arteries so thick with plaque that even a stiff breeze might jar loose the clot that ends it all. You want what any good red-blooded American boy or girl craves after a tough day on the baseball diamond - Mc-friggin-donalds.

Nothing drudges up those post- little league memories like a couple of reheated burgers and over-salted fries. It's comfort food (quite literally) on hormones, and it hits the spot harder than Bill Romanowski hits practice squad running backs. So after three months on the road in Asia and still reeling from the emotionally trying recovery of my now sullied laptop, I said screw it and had myself a lunch date with the clown. Malaysia kept tempting me with its New Years themed "Prosperity Burger" - an oblong shaped football of reconstituted chop beef smothered and covered in what could only be described as "a viscous, oil-like deluge of peppery filth". I was mad at Asia for having so rudely and abruptly jacked the fun out of my last day in Kuala Lumpur so I caved and ordered a supersized helping of make-Eric-slightly-happy meal goodness.

Satisfying is not a word I would use to describe my dining experience. The curly fries (which are hard to screw up) were passably tasty, but my Prosperity Burger brought shame upon my ancestors with its failure to not slide out of the bun and fall onto the counter top. The highly touted "Prosperity McFizz" turned out to be nothing more than Sprite and Minute Maid mixed with an improper balance of syrup to flavor and quenched neither my thirst nor the fiery disappointment now burning in my belly. Of course, the gastrointestinal irritation may well have been from the whole peppercorns generously distributed across the porous surface of my lunch meat. Either way, the meal was an epic fail.

Lessons learned from this catastrophe? Absolutely none. Given how I felt at the time, even knowing that my meal would spit in the face of all things holy, I would do it again given the opportunity. Hell, out of 100 chances to redo lunch, I would've done the same thing 100 more times. Granted, I didn't go to Asia for the burgers and it seems obvious in hindsight that I was rolling the dice a bit, but after a while you just want the chance to feel like you can grab onto something familiar when in an unfamiliar land. I wanted McDonalds. I needed McDonalds. And damnit, I didn't care if it was the worst fast food in the world, I was getting McDonalds. So be careful what you wish for in Asia - you might just get it.