Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The Things We Do For Love
Big Mac, aka Funburger.
As mentioned previously, I have a girlfriend, Andromeda. Being single for almost five years before that I got used to doing things my way; not having to socially compromise on anything, always being able to choose what's on the telly and what music is playing when I do the housework, and eating what I want and when I want.
Whilst Andromeda is happy to eat whatever I prepare or suggest (when we go out), left alone to her own devices, she has pretty junky eating habits. Like all cliche girls, chocolate is its own food group in her diet, as are these hideous packeted food-drinks called 'Up n Go' (I had one sip and nearly spewed - it tasted like soggy weetbix that had been left on the table for a whole day, in the sun). She also likes Red Bull (I had one sip of that too - all my teeth decayed by 10%).
She also likes McDonalds. Which is a problem, because I've maintained a blackban on McDonalds since 1989 (though I did have a long macchiato from Maccas in 2007, at 2am, on drugs, drunk, and attempting (and failing) to pick up a chick who happened to want a Cheeseburger at that time).
I have been proud of my 22 year blackban, irrational as it is. I don't think McDonalds is any more evil than any other franchise of anything, but like Nike, Nescafe, Microsoft and USA, being the biggest at some enterprise means being the principal target of anti-capitalist ire, but I'm sure that Le Coq Sportif, Moccona, Norton and Norway would be just as evil given half the chance. I eat Hungry Jacks occasionally, but not Maccas - that's irrational, but sometimes, it's nice to just stick to something, no matter how inconvenient it is so as to feel some sense of discipline, or achievement. I set myself a boundary, and kept to it.
But recently, at a dinner party, I made mention of my 22 year ban on McDonalds, and Andomeda said to me, "...that's because you're anti-fun!"
I argued that the eating or non-eating of McDonalds had nothing to do with 'fun', and that indeed, I am a LOT of fun even with the absence of Maccas - hell, the other night, I read Jack London's 'Call Of The Wild' on my I-phone in three hours whilst stroking her hair when she was asleep! I'm a lot of fun! But she wouldn't be deterred. She, somewhat wrongly, but a lot rightly, pointed out that my lifestyle, with the exception of when I have a few drinks under my belt, revolves around arty musings, political debates and lazing on the couch watching sport.
So, two nights ago, we drove to Colac to do a big grocery shop (because there's so many poor people there, the groceries are real cheap - kalamata olives at $7.99 a kilo!) and planned to get fish n chips, but it was shut. "I want McDonalds" she said so I went to the drive through (which they spelt 'thru', which nearly made me crash), and she ordered a cheeseburger, some chicken nuggets and a watered down coke, and before I knew it, obviously with the 'anti-fun' jibe rattling in my head, I heard myself order a Big Mac and medium fries.
It was like riding a bike. One bite into the Big Mac and I thought, "I remember this". An hour later, when I felt nauseous, fat, sickly and lethargic, I thought, "I remember this as well".
I was right to instil a ban on that crap food for 22 years, but here's the rub: I enjoyed it. Sort of. I enjoyed not having to get out of the car, and to be fed, cheaply and quickly, with food that whilst disgusting on almost every measurement, was good for both my appetite and my relationship. Also, I proved I was capable of 'fun', and now that I've proven it to her, I can give Maccas another 22 year wide berth.