The McRib returns: still saucy after all these years
Back in 2011, we wrote our very first food story, and it was about the McRib. We talked to someone at the Natural Grocery store meat counter, who helped us dissect one.
We interviewed someone on Central Avenue who was having his first McRib. We even called McDonald's headquarters when it was in Oak Brook, Illinois. We documented the cult following, the McRib Locator website, and the road trips people took to find this thing.
Soren Hemmila
Fourteen years later, we're still here. The McRib is back. And so are we. While waiting in the drive-through lane, we watched a whole bunch of people on horseback head into the Starbucks drive-through.
Are you part of a group?
Yes. No. We just get together to ride.
Let's start with the obvious: this thing is REALLY saucy. We're talking aggressively, unapologetically saucy. The barbecue glaze, excuse me, McRib Sauce, doesn't just coat the sandwich, it dominates it. We're actually lost in the sauce before we've even registered what's underneath. Sweet, tangy, sticky, and everywhere. If you're the type who likes to taste individual components of your food, the McRib is here to tell you that's not happening today.
That soft cornmeal-dusted bun holds up better than you'd expect, given the sauce situation, but grab extra napkins anyway.
The meat itself? It's compressed. There's no getting around that. It's molded into the shape of ribs despite containing no actual ribs and, honestly, not tasting particularly porky either. There's a savory something happening in there, but it's mostly a vehicle for the sauce. The texture is what it is: tender, uniform, like a large breakfast sausage that has been steamed.
Here's where things get interesting though: the pickles and onions are doing serious work. Those thin pickle chips and sharp white onions cut through all that sweetness and provide the only relief from the sugar assault. Without them, this would be unbearable. With them, it's actually...kind of good?
And that's the thing about the McRib: it's better than you expect. Not better than it should be, but better than a compressed meat product drowning in far too much sweet barbecue sauce should be. There's a reason it keeps coming back. There's a reason people get excited when they spot it on the menu board.
Is it real barbecue? No. Is it even real ribs? Definitely not. But is it a satisfying guilty pleasure that somehow works despite, or maybe because of, its complete lack of pretension? Yeah. It really is.
The McRib knows what it is. And sometimes, that's enough.
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