Confessions Of A McRib Virgin

DG’s Mike Cervantes consumes McDonald’s seasonal sandwich for the very first time. It was an experience.

Mike Cervantes | Daily Girth

It tasted rib-like.

And I wanted to poo-poo it.

But the damn thing actually tasted rib-like.

McDonald’s McRib isn’t a staple on its menu. Like Christmas, it came in December. People have hyped this sandwich as some sort of Second Coming. You hear or read the phrase, “the McRib is back” and everyone gets giddy.

I’ve never felt such joy. For I was a McRib virgin.

Now, my cherry has been busted. It feels tremendous.

When my Uncle Dennis realized I had never known the McRib, he insisted he buy my first taste of heaven.

It went down the other night.

Never mind the 500 calories and 26 grams of fat.

Who cares about the less-than-thrilling ingredient that is included in the construction of yoga mats or the soles of shoes. The McRib was the best fucking yoga mat I’ve ever tasted.

Eating this thing hasn’t changed my life. I wouldn’t scarf the McRib down on a consistent basis. I am extremely impressed at its taste. A quality bun, a pork product drenched in barbeque sauce and the tanginess of pickles (I took the onions out) combined to form something that is neither burger nor sandwich.

True, the McRib is a sandwich, but it’s like eating fall a part, succulent ribs without the fear of swallowing bones. Incredible.

The bun soaks up the barbeque sauce, making the whole sandwich go down smooth like someone smoked ribs in one of those delectable joints that use wood chips and burns bark in their meat. And, of course, fall-off-the-bone ribs.

Soon, the McRib will go back into hibernation. Will I count the days down till the McRib returns? No.

Will I give the McRib another try when it makes its triumphant return?

Fuck yes.

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