I have always admired fast food for its honesty. It has never pretended to be health food, fine dining, or something you would proudly describe to your cardiologist. Fast food knows exactly what it is, and so do we. There is a simple handshake agreement between the counter and the customer, sealed with napkins and a sense of personal responsibility.
That is why I was surprised — almost moved — by the news that a class-action lawsuit has been filed against McDonald’s over the McRib, accusing it of being “deceptively marketed.”
This is like suing a county fair because the goldfish you won did not live very long.
The lawsuit, filed in late December, claims the McRib is not actually made from rib meat, but from “restructured pork,” allegedly including parts such as shoulder, heart, and stomach. Plaintiffs argue the name, the rib-like shape, and the marketing mislead consumers into thinking they are buying a premium rib product.
Premium is a bold word to use in a sentence that also includes “drive-thru.” This is the same restaurant where the ice cream machine is always broken, but the optimism never is.
McDonald’s, for its part, says the McRib is made with “100% pork,” which is technically accurate and also the kind of statement that gently suggests you stop asking questions. Pork is pork, much like sausage is sausage, and curiosity has ruined many a breakfast.
I have never ordered a McRib believing I was about to enjoy something Fred Flintstone might drag home from the quarry. But the McRib has never looked like an actual rib. It looks like a rib as imagined by a cartoonist who once overheard someone describing one.
The shape alone should have been a clue. Nothing that perfect ever came from an animal without assistance. Nature is uneven. Fast food is symmetrical.
And yet the lawsuit seems shocked — shocked! — that fast food involves creative interpretation. If shapes mattered, Chicken McNuggets would have been recalled years ago. Those things come in four approved silhouettes, none of which exist in nature or geometry.
Fast food is not about authenticity. It is about speed, salt, and a willingness to eat in your car without eye contact. It is cuisine designed for cup holders and people who say, “I’ll just grab something quick,” and then feel sleepy afterward.
The McRib, in particular, only appears occasionally, like a comet or a distant relative who needs a place to stay. When it arrives, people do not ask what it’s made of. They say, “It’s back,” as if it had been off fighting a war.
I suspect no one has ever taken a bite of a McRib and said, “This is not the rib experience I was promised.” What they say is, “That’s a lot of sauce,” and then keep chewing, which tells you everything you need to know about satisfaction.
Fast food is not about truth in advertising. It has always been a leap of faith. You trust the menu board, the golden arches, and your own judgment. The McRib is not a lie. It is an understanding.
If we start demanding full culinary transparency from McDonald’s, we are headed down a dangerous road. Next someone will sue because the Filet-O-Fish is not caught by a fisherman named Filet, or because the Happy Meal did not, in fact, fix anything.
And then where will we be? Hungry, that’s where.
My View From the cheap seats 