For me, McRib is more than just a regular McDonald's burger

I clearly remember the first time I ate a McRib.

The year was 1998. Billie Piper was number one with her critically underrated second single Girlfriend, and Mulan had just been released in UK cinemas nationwide.

To celebrate this monumental event (Mulan, not Billie), McDonald's introduced a new burger – the Oriental McRib, the shining star of the restaurant's special “Flavors of the Orient” menu (accompanied by a terrible TV ad that I discovered while writing this article).

All I knew was that it was nothing like anything from the Orient, but it was by far the most delicious thing I had ever eaten.

It was a juicy pork burger coated in barbecue sauce with fried onions on a golden sesame seed bun. I loved McDonald's so much as a child that it's a wonder I don't have many health problems today.

It was love at first bite. The McRib was so spicy, the meat so juicy, and with the sharp crunch of the fried onion pieces, the McChickenco Sandwich was always my favorite, it just paled in comparison.

I found my new order, my new comfort food that I knew would always be there for me, to be a joy in times of need.

And then one day when I returned to the Golden Arches to buy what could have been my 10th McRib of the month, it was gone. He disappeared without saying goodbye.

In retrospect, it was probably my first real experience of grief. Until then, my only real idea of ​​losing a loved one came from watching Littlefoot mourn the death of his mother in The Land Before Time, and then Simba watching his father Mufasa be crushed to death by a wildebeest trampling.

Suddenly I felt like I could relate to it.

Of course, I still went to McDonald's at least once a week, and soon I learned to remember the beauty of the McChicken sandwich and six chicken nuggets covered in barbecue sauce.

Life went on and I accepted that I might never see a McRib again, but there were other joys in life.

Then at university I met someone who would eventually become my best friend, Iain. I don't remember exactly when, but we discovered that we had a mutual appreciation for the McRib.

He had the same memories; When I talked about the McRib with the same excitement as others talked about their childhood idols, I saw that he had just caught me and I had caught him.

In 2014, the unthinkable happened. I never thought I'd see the day, but the McRib was back on the McDonald's menu, no longer incorrectly called “Taste of the Orient,” and from that moment on, I knew my waistline would never be the same again.

Now in my twenties and wiser to the world, I knew our time was limited and I had to take advantage of the few weeks we had together. And that's exactly what he did. I swallowed more McRibs in a few weeks than any doctor would recommend in a lifetime, and while my gut never forgave me for it, it was worth every bite.

When the day came to say goodbye, my roommate and I met at McDonald's on Oxford Street. We each ordered two McRibs and according to Instagram it was exactly 504 weeks ago to this day when I marked the moment with a tearful post.

At least this time I could say a proper goodbye, send McRib on his way, and take comfort in knowing that I enjoyed every day he was here until one day when I hope we meet again.

As this was my last time on British shores, I know I ate exactly 12 McRibs – one for each day I spent in Japan; a paradise where the McRib is a permanent fixture on its endlessly excellent menu.

Today McDonald's brought my beloved back to the menu for a limited time only. Now, at 36, I can't consume McDonald's as heavily as I did in 2014 without a sharp pain in my chest reminding me that my next chapter as a middle-aged McAddict is just around the corner.

This time I will tread a little more carefully, or at least I will try.

Still, I can only compare the excitement of meeting McRib again to meeting a school friend who has moved abroad and your time together is limited to two-week stays when he returns to the UK for fleeting family visits once every ten years.

This time I've gotten older, there's no room in my life for catching up every day like I used to, and when we're together, things may not be the same as before.

But the comfort of revisiting old childhood memories means the McRib will always be more than just a burger. People come and go in life, but the McRib always comes back, never changes, always reliable every time.

Do you have a story you'd like to share? Contact jess.austin@metro.co.uk.

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