Remember Meat
McDonald’s.
Burger King.
Popeye’s.
Carl’s Jr.
I ate them all this week.
As I indulged in a personal retreat these past few days — a needed week’s break from reality— something unexpected happened: I completely succumbed to the call of fast food advertising.
I almost never eat national-chain fast foods. In fact, a personal rule I hold is “no big-chain fast food unless you’re on a road trip or traveling” — one justification being that while traveling, convenience wins. I’ve been completely faithful to this rule for roughly a decade (exception: KFC is completely permissible for special gatherings or sick days), buoyed by my belief in supporting small businesses, plus my absolute joy for eating and cooking all the amazing cuisine and produce I have access to locally.
But last Sunday night, that first domino fell. The craving for a hamburger hit me hard — and I specifically itched for the taste of a chain-store product, not a fancy gastropub offering.
As I drove around town under the pandemic sunset, my options dimmed. My first picks — Willie’s, a locally owned chain, and In-N-Out, that California classic — were no-go’s: one had a packed line of patrons indoors, none who were physically distancing well; the other had a drive-thru line probably 20 cars deep wrapped around the block. As the dusk sky dimmed and as hungry frustration verged on a hangry one, I spotted a deserted McDonald’s—and committed.
It was a terrible meal. I had completely forgotten that McDonald’s burgers by default lack fresh vegetables and was devoid of much beefy flavor. Even those famous French fries tasted undersalted and a bit cold and hard. Yet somehow, my brain had convinced my spirit that McDonald’s would do fine in this pinch — that those golden fries would be deliciously hot, salty, and crispy. That the burgers would be a warm, savory reminder of an earlier time, happy but forgotten.
The other justification has much deeper roots.
At some point in life, I began to associate fast food with travel. That going on a trip or an outing for the day often resulted in a stop at a fast food establishment. Those tastes, smells, and memories became intertwined — fast food was a necessity and reward of a day’s journey, as much as a day’s journey became a means and anticipation to score that greasy fried high.
“For us it was Del Taco,” said my friend Carly, reminiscing youthful summers in Southern California. “There was this one Del Taco at Newport Beach, and after a day at the beach and in the water, we would go to that one Del Taco. Del Taco was the end of the day.”
“Sourdough Jack at Jack In the Box,” said Joe, of a different meal, different place, different group of friends, but the same memory. “It’ll be two a.m., at the end of the night, and we’d be hungry. We’d go to Jack In The Box.”
“I was driving the other day and was just drooling all of a sudden,” said Pearl. “Then I realized there was a Carl’s Jr. on that street corner. That was my brother and mine’s treat growing up.”
For me, it was Wendy’s after a day’s exploring in nature, kids being left to our own trays and table, while the grown-ups hovered around theirs a few seats down.
Do the details matter? Not really. It seems that once these memories have taken root, any little reminder — a television ad, a coupon mailer, a roadside sign, a conversation— will trigger a brief, tiny blip of these deep, emotional recalls.
Sometimes, that blip is just that fleeting signal, flickering out as quickly as it appeared, our mind more rapt attending to tasks at hand. Other times — perhaps synced with physiological hunger and emotional vulnerability — that flicker becomes a flame.
Even so, I found it odd that my fast food cravings lasted more than one night. Left unfulfilled by my initial McDonald’s foray, perhaps I was determined to properly satisfy that emotional cue — that warm, tasty joy resulting from salty fats physically hitting my taste buds along with any and all abstract, tingling feelings retrieved accordingly.
My mind seemed to run through a catalog of taste memories, real and associated. The remembered taste of a Burger King meal during a Midwest layover on a November work trip, watching the snow drift slowly cover the tarmac outside. My first big job in college, which put me within easy access to a Carl’s Jr., making it a frequent lunch destination all summer long. Popeye’s— a brand I don’t recall ever having eaten before — is a puzzling outlier, but then fried chicken is a foundational weakness of mine, with many meals enjoyed with loved ones across brands and decades.
One common thread across all four brands was television ads seen: I recount being repeatedly exposed by all four companies that week. The other common thread? The shadow of the pandemic. Whereas the shelter-in-place psychology has doomed many to break curfew, giving in to mass gatherings and personal contact after months of lockdown, somehow my version of this quarantine rebellion has been … junk food? That the one week I chose to step aside from the daily toil of work and responsibility, my main escapist vice would be the rampant intake of industrially processed fats, carbs, and sugary sodas? Gustatory sins safely acquired via physically distant pick-up windows, and scarfed down in the comfort of my own home?
Yet, I dined alone—with only the din of more TV commercials as company. And I think that there’s the revelation regarding my craving spree.
Advertising might do its job well in triggering your recall of taste and memories linked with a combo meal. That meal and drink, once acquired, might check a few boxes of satisfaction in terms of the sugary high and meaty mellow. But the missing ingredient remains the people and the place — no new memory created to reinforce this amalgamated flavor fantasy, no journey taken, shared, nor earned.
My craving was never really for burgers and fries.
Perhaps the bleak state of these pandemic months will register these lonely, greasy takeout dinners in their own archival category. But for now, they pale in comparison to more colorful recollections of fried feasts past with fond friends present— seared with laughter, slathered in sentiment, and chewed in loving kinship and commiseration.
Note: Quotes were paraphrased and names have been anonymized in this essay.
