My McObsession with Breakfast

I should explain why breakfast at McD's is such a treat for me after this last McPost

Somewhere around the age of 5, I stopped eating meat which meant no more happy meals. As much as that seemed unfair, I didn't like the meat so much that I found the strenth to give up happy meals for not being forced to eat the burger lest an Ethiopan child find out I wouldn't eat my burger. The meat just skeeved me out. The texture was all wrong, and even as a five year old I was indignant about the shape that they serve the McRib in. I mean, COME ON!! It's straight up insulting to put that sandwich patty into the shape of real ribs with the bones jutting out in a pattern.

When I stumbled on McD's breakfast menu, I felt like a born-again American saying: "Hi! I would like a number 3 with NO bacon and a large diet coke, please!"

To be fair, most all meats disgust me and if I think about eggs and chickens for too long, I can't eat either of those things until I forget again. Oh, it's nothing moral or environmental - I'm just not generally a fan of meats or fish or poultry of any kind. Do NOT tell my children this, please!

Admittedly, and maybe not so coincidentally, my tastes in food have not matured beyond the age I was when I boycotted meats, particularly fast food meats. For a brief time, when McNuggets hit my scene, I gave them a serious try but invariably, I always bite straight into some chunk of grissle and I give up again.

There are exceptions.

For example: a carefully prepared filet stuffed with gorgonzola or bleu cheese fresh from my friend Danny's grill. Danny taught me how to eat steak. He wholeheartedly maintains that the words "steak" and "sauce" used together are quite profane yet used seperately are holy words. He is known for walking into the house on every Saturday wearing his "weekend uniform" of yellow snowboard pants (yes, yellow, like fireman pants, and yes snowboard as in winter sport, and yes even in JULY in the south), with a plain white undershirt tee, and unlaced running shoes. After incoherent grumblings while passing me on his mission to my refrigerator, he rummages around like a hungry bear in springtime until he finds non-moulded food stuffs (generally aged takeout) and then asks in all seriousness, "You got some sauce I can put on this??!!"

This is charming for two reasons: 1. He has done this every single weekend that he lived within an hours drive of us over the past 13 years that we've been friends and, 2. His southern Georgia drawl takes the maniacal edge off his food missions (but, incidently, not his mild lactose intolerance farts). Danny can make one hell of a steak!

Another exception is BACON. You know EXACTLY what I mean about BACON, don't you!?

Thanksgiving - what a meal! I start making room in about August!




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