You're no good, you're no good, you're no good, McRib, you're no good

Also: The Doritos Locos Tacos Four Loko Cocoa Loco Moco, a delightful Claire Saffitz interview, and one of the many attempts at making a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster

Dear McRib:

If I have to be honest with myself, it’s not that you’re terrible. You’re a perfectly fine seasoned pork barbecue sandwich, though you’re fooling no one with that faux-bone silhouette you’re sporting — everyone knows you’re only a couple of grind settings away from Spam.

It’s just…last week, running to you in the middle of a busy day, desperate for sustenance, only blocks from a perfectly good bahn mi joint, and a few minutes walk from truly excellent pozole and al pastor…I was running late, and I talked myself into thinking what I was craving was you, when really what I wanted was what I thought you were when we first started seeing each other, which was really, less than anyone deserves: lowered expectations, covered in barbecue sauce and slivered onions.

I know we’ve had our dalliances in the past. But last week was the last time. I know better. I deserve better. And I’ve realized you’re the sandwich I always thought you were but never admitted to myself: you’re tasty, but you could be so, so, so much more. And yet, you think you’ll never have to be. You think those raw onions make you seem edgy, but all they do is call attention to the one-dimensional cloyingness of your sauce and your love for yourself.

You hope I’ll forget that I’m angry — angry at you for thinking I’m sad enough to keep craving you, angry at myself for agreeing with you until now — and run back to you.

This time, you can keep your excessively sweet sauce and mushy, pasty consistency and leave me alone.

I’m gonna find me a sandwich that validates my choices, instead of making me regret them, and — no matter how many commercials or online coupons you send — never. look. back.

At least your sibling McChicken KNOWS it’s cheap, trashy and satisfying. It doesn’t take a seasonable push of terrible jingles and commercials to remind us what delicious garbage it is.

And that’s why it’ll stay a classic. Unlike you and your bone-form that reminds me of the teen who Photoshops muscles onto his profile picture.

You? You’re just trash.

— Theo

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Things you should make:

More food stuff:

Things you should watch and/or listen to:

  • Pasta Grannies is a YouTube series that finds nonnas in Italy cooking mind-blowing food and showcases their chow and talent in short, charming and instructive videos. Spend a weekend afternoon in your kitchen cooking one of these recipes while watching the rest.

  • Douglas Adams is a much beloved and dearly missed British author. Of his many contributions to the collective imaginations of generations of readers (yes, the first book is now 40 years old) the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is a drink often mentioned and impossible to make — with terrestrial ingredients, at least:

    Take the juice from one bottle of that Ol' Janx Spirit.

    Pour into it one measure of water from the seas of Santraginus V (Oh, that Santragian seawater! Oh, those Santragian fish!)

    Allow three cubes of Arcturan Mega-gin to melt into the mixture (it must be properly iced or the benzine is lost).

    Allow four litres of Fallian marsh gas to bubble through it, in memory of all those happy Hikers who have died of pleasure in the Marshes of Fallia.

    Over the back of a silver spoon float a measure of Qualactin Hypermint extract, redolent of all the heavy odours of the dark Qualactin Zones, subtle, sweet, and mystic.

    Drop in the tooth of an Algolian Suntiger. Watch it dissolve, spreading the fires of the Algolian Suns deep into the heart of the drink.

    Sprinkle Zamphuor.

    Add an olive.

    Drink . . . but . . . very carefully . . .

    That doesn’t mean a nerd can’t try, though:

That’s it for this edition of The83K newsletter. If you have any tips or suggestions for things you’d like to see here, please drop me a line at