I don't believe I spend any more or less than time than average thinking about food on any given day (though I've met people who do), so it seems strange to me that some of my fondest childhood memories are memories in which food play a central role.
I remember one morning, as a child, after spending the night at a friend's place, going for breakfast at a local diner with the friend and his dad. Now, his dad was a bit more willing to indulge the psychotic whims of children than my own folks had been, and so, on this particular morning, he allowed me to fulfill one of my greatest childhood wishes -- having a cheeseburger for breakfast.
Cheeseburgers, for whatever reason, had reached an almost mythical status in my young head, and were the greatest treat that could be bestowed upon you for a meal. I had spent months, perhaps even years trying to convince my parents to let me eat a cheeseburger when we were out for breakfast, but they refused, time and time again.
So of course, I was expecting absolute bliss from dining on a cheeseburger at 10:00 a.m. Instead, I just got sort of nautious.
Our family didn't eat at McDonald's with any sort of regularity, and so when we did go, it was something to celebrate. You wanted to make an event out of it. Not long after the initial launch of McDonald's Chicken McNuggets, they became my meal of choice when visiting McDonald's. And of course, as my meal of choice, there was the Holy Grail of Chicken McNuggets.
The 20-piece meal.
Much like the breakfast cheeseburger, all my requests for a 20-piece meal were refuesed by my parents for what felt like years (though it was probably only a handful of months -- childhood memory is funny that way) before they finally got tired of hearing my complaints and relented.
And what should have been a glorious moment of joy became, much like the breakfast cheeseburger incident, a moment of overconsumption and nausea.
The moral of the story: When parents say, "No," it isn't always because they're mean. Sometimes it's because they don't want you to throw up all over yourself, and them, and the nice people at the table next to you. Which isn't to say that I did, but I could have. You never know with food related things.
Which brings me, in a very offhand way, to the real point of this post.
McDonald's Hot Mustard sauce, for their Chicken McNuggets, is, apparently, no more.
According to the woman who took my order yesterday, McDonald's took a survey and discovered that more people preferred the Honey Mustard to the Hot Mustard, so the Hot Mustard was removed as an option.
And to those people who took that survey, and who inspired McDonald's to remove the Hot Mustard sauce from their menu, I want to say simply this: I hate you all.
Hot Mustard is all I've ever had on my McDonald's Chicken McNuggets, all I've ever wanted to have on my Chicken McNuggets. Now, in my adulthood, it has less to do with the taste -- though I still enjoyed that the last time I was lucky enough to have the hot mustard sauce -- and more to do with nostalgia. With reconnecting with the simpler times of your childhood.
And you people, you stupid Honey Mustard people, have destroyed all that.
Today we mourn the passing of Hot Mustard from the McDonald's menu, and while we hold no grudges against this newer, less nostalgic "Honey Mustard" -- for it is innocent of any food related crime, and is simply the unlikely replacement for a fondly remembered product -- we acknowledge that McDonald's will never be the same. And that I will likely never eat their Chicken McNuggets again.
Goodbye, dear, Hot Mustard. You will be missed.