FOOD-ISH

We Have The Meats!

An American death-wish dining story

I have a problem. It’s Arby’s.

Yes, I’m a fan of the red meat-headed stepchild of America’s junk food industrial complex. The whipping boy of late-night comedians, where the only plant-based menu items are the fries and buns.

To be fair, cows are vegetarians, so nothing is more than one degree of separation from growing in the ground. That doesn’t sound so bad.

I want to say my relationship with fast food is complicated, but it’s not. You may dream of five stars, give me Five Guys. Roast duck is a delicacy, but I’m OK with Kentucky Fried Chicken. Even if it isn’t obviously any more chicken than duck.

In other words, I eat like somebody with a death wish. It’s dietary Russian Roulette, the chamber loaded with an unwholesome projectile of chopped, pressed, and formed mystery meat aimed straight at my heart.

Yes, I know, my body is a temple. But to a god who demands human sacrifice. What you call defiling, I call lunch.

Speaking of which, the Bible says Jesus turned over the money changers’ tables for defiling the brick-and-mortar temples of his day, but I can’t pull off Christ-like. My relationship with tables is less about upending than standing next to them holding a tray, looking on awkwardly as an overworked and underpaid victim of the service economy uses a damp rag to redistribute the germs.

Wait, you thought those tables were clean? You’re adorable.

Do I have qualms about technically edible corporate cash-cow burgers? Of course! Who wouldn’t?

Consider fast food ads for “melty” cheese. What exactly does that even mean? They’re mouthing words when they should just spit it out: it’s a heat-induced incrementally destabilizing petroleum byproduct. The melty-ing point is carefully calibrated — it won’t run through your fingers at room temperature, but when a cold slice is slapped onto a warm beef-product patty, it will do a passable imitation of cheese by the time it gets to the table.

Most importantly, it’s orange. And oh so tasty.

Every outlet has its own particular issue. If you like Chicken McNuggets, do not watch a video of how they’re made. Taco Bell was sued because the plaintiff believed their ground beef was less than 50% meat. They won, but it was certainly plausible. KFC no longer cuts chicken breasts into three pieces, which is nice. But higher on the sketchyometer is “honey sauce,” a concoction of high-fructose corn syrup, chemicals, food coloring, and I’m guessing a photograph of some bees.

But my favorite is still Arby’s. Home of thin-sliced beef-adjacent meat on a bun, with or without a cheddar-esque emulsion on top.

Adding curly fries and a Coke provides enough calories to run a marathon and enough sodium to de-ice a sidewalk. Go to town.

If you are what you eat, I wonder how much of my not-insubstantial self is made of “America’s Roast Beef, Yes Sir!” I should cut back, and will — eventually. But not today, because there was good news on the medical front. I showed this article to my cardiac specialist and he didn’t have a coronary.

So who’s up for some Meats? I’m buying!

John Werth is a Medium Top Writer in Humor and Satire. He’s also a 12x Top Writer on another platform, but in Canada so you wouldn’t know her. He finds writing more tiring than exercise, so he compensates by not exercising.

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