The McRib Gets McReviewed

The McRib. Why is it even called that? There are no ribs in it. But if you are one of the many McRib fanatics, you don’t care. You scarf down the pork-like sandwich, made with an ingredient normally found in yoga mats, like there’s no tomorrow. Because with this elusive sandwich, sometimes there really is no tomorrow. It’s back in most McDonald’s restaurants around the country right now, but only until November 14. Then, it’s another year waiting to sink your teeth into this somehow-intriguing, pork-ish thing.

The McRib is marketing genius. If they offered it year-round, it wouldn’t be nearly as popular as it is. Sure, the die-hards would still eat it on a regular basis. But the fact that it’s only available about one month out of every year means that not only will those hardcore fans rip them apart like a hyena with a deer carcass, it also means that people who don’t normally eat it are interested and might go see what the hype’s all about.

So what is a McRib? Well, according to McDonald’s website, it is a “magnificently mouthwatering boneless rib,” covered in “sweetly scrumptious barbecue sauce,” topped with “tantalizingly tart pickles” and “sensationally savory onions.” In other words, a boneless pork patty with lots of barbecue sauce, a couple of pickle chips, and sliced onions, all on a corn-dusted hoagie-style bun.

Last week, McDonald’s sent me some coupons to try a McRib. So I thought to myself, ‘Self, it’s time to finally eat a McRib.’ It costs $2.99 in my neck of the woods. I opened the box, and found a whole bottle of barbecue sauce had been dumped inside. Under all the sauce, the pork patty has disturbing ridges, supposedly to invoke the thought that these are actually ribs, and once had bones. Who do they think they’re fooling?

For me, this sandwich didn’t work. The pork was juicy, but had next to no flavor. The texture was kind of like a Chicken McNugget, that sort of mashed up parts feel. It was also sort of like rubber. The bun was actually quite good, very warm and soft. The only thing keeping the McRib from being inedible was the pickles and onions. Their flavors played nicely off the sweet barbecue sauce, and their crunch really added another dimension. Without them, it would have been a mushy mess.

In the end, I can safely say I won’t be eating any more McRibs. Maybe in a couple of years I will have forgotten that the pork had the look and feel of a shoe sole, and I’ll ride the McRib train once more. November 14 will come too soon for some, but to the McRib, I say good riddance.