March 23, 2016 Article

The Old Coot comes clean.

By Merlin Lessler

I love McDonalds! There, I said it. The most politically incorrect food statement imaginable. I’ve been hiding it. Afraid to admit that their French fries are “to die for,” their Big Macs are transcendental and their prices are “old coot” friendly. Now mind you, I only consume two Big Macs a year, but they are there for me when the urge gets too strong to fight. When I just can’t stop myself.  That’s not the case for their breakfast menu. I go for an old coot special nearly every week: a sausage McMuffin, hash brown and large coffee for under five bucks. And, how about that drive-in window on a bitter cold, winter morning or rain drenched summer afternoon? So convenient! And most of the time, so fast.

I feel better now – I got it out in the open – I confessed. But, there’s more. I love bread. Rye bread, Kaiser rolls, baguettes, Italian bread, and yes, evil white bread. No, it’s not the same bread my mother sent me off on my bike every couple of days to pick up at our neighborhood grocery store. That bread was fresh and would turn hard in a day or two, more or less. No preservatives! I could never resist opening the package to pull a slice out of the middle and munch it down as I peddled back home, with the rest of the loaf hanging off my handlebars in a canvas drawstring sack. That must be where my weakness for processed wheat comes from. That, and the box of Wheaties on our breakfast table with Mickey Mantle staring at me as I ate. 

Oh sure, bread was different back then. Wheat and wheat processing has changed over the years but, people have changed too. Especially kids. We moved around more than kids do today; we ran, skipped, jumped, climbed trees, played every game possible with a round ball. We fought cowboy and Indian wars with cap pistols in the woods. Our metabolisms were ramped up enough to devour those calories and keep the fat cells at bay. We didn’t know that having fun was good for us. And, when we sat down to the dinner table, we were hungry. Starved! Oh that world before TV.

Now I’m old. I still move around, but not like I used to. And, I’ve been marginalized because I’m politically “food” incorrect. I’m just about finished with this revelation, this admission. I’m going to put down my notebook and pen and go up to the counter to get my free, senior coffee refill and then come back and write a closing sentence. (One minute later) “I love McDonalds!”