Monday, May 24, 2004

The smell inside a Macdonalds



Now, the received wisdom among the liberal community of London is that Ronald McDonald is the Antichrist. Ronald is to the left-wing as East European migrants are to Daily Mail readers, polluting our country, destroying our society, and perving about with little kids. Well, even Daily Mail readers might draw the line with the kids reference. But, as a fully paid up member of the London liberati, I’ve got to admit my vice, publicly, here in front of you all, our dear readers. My name is Chris and I enjoy the taste of McFlurrys.

I know it’s wicked and wrong. Trust me, on the rare occasion that I do feel the urge, I flagellate myself for several hours afterwards, and whenever I pass over actual cash for one (Crunchie flavoured naturally), I don my hair shirt beforehand. But I simply can’t help myself. I would prefer it if a jingly-jangly ice cream van tootled past my office window every day and I could sate my cravings with a far superior Mr Whippy (with a flake and raspberry sauce, naturally). But in these days of lack of community and capitalist high street shopping, this simply is no longer the done thing. I need the vegetable fat creaminess of a Mr Whippy substitute and damn it all if under the Golden Arches isn’t the only place to find a quick fix.

Yet there is one thing that even in my more Whippy-crazed moments, when I’m actually convulsing through the cold turkey, that prevents me from buying a McFlurry. And that’s the smell inside of the McDonald’s. It’s like an aromatic slap in the face and a pungent “Pull Yourself Together Man and Look Around You.” As soon as I walk in the door I’m confronted by the rancid smell of indistinguishable meat frying in unmentionable fats, mingled with the overpowering sterility of bleach and cleaning products. My stomach churns and all thoughts of food products vanish from my previously befuddled mind.

In may ways, this should merit an appallingly low mark of, say, 0.4/10. However, for the sheer fact that this has probably saved me, oooooh, several pounds over the years and prevented a mid-20s coronary problem owing to the sheer amount of cholosterol clogging up my arteries, I am grateful. Not too grateful, mind.


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