Certain foods are for certain events. In special cases, an event commands a delicacy that you otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford every day of the week, every day of the year. It’s food that’s meant to be cherished rather than sloshed-down with a 32-ounce Coke, which is why the McDonald’s New England-style lobster roll absolutely disgusts me.
The lobster roll, which debuted last year, will run you a cool $8.99 which is a far cry from the $14.99 that you’ll often pay per pound of lobster (that is unless you’re in Maine or some other state bordering a body of water with a dope-ass lobster population). But beginning today, you can buy this atrocious attempt at fine dining at locations in Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and New York. And while, sure, you think to yourself, “Well I bet those states have great lobster,” please don’t underestimate that we’re talking about McDonald’s here – the same company that had to put out a five-minute video in a desperate attempt to prove that their chicken nuggets aren’t born from pink Play-Doh rather than, you know, actual fucking chickens.
But this lobster from the North Atlantic will be tossed with mayonnaise and layered with lettuce on a toasted roll! It will be so tasty! And it’s seasonal, ensuring only the freshest of lobster is selected to be frozen and sent to McDonald’s locations. Just stop kidding yourself. It’s going to taste like imitation crab ate imitation lobster and had a baby that’s somewhere in between, because even though McDonald’s has mid-range fast food fries and is home to the McGangBang, seafood is just something you probably shouldn’t be touching given their entire kitchen situation.
But hey, if you’d rather skimp on the price and hit up a Mickey D’s in Maine as opposed to a casual wooden bar who probably had a badass life-long fisherman catch said lobster while listening to “Barrett’s Privateers” on his boat, be my guest. I’m sure they’ll totally taste the same. Just don’t come crawling to me when you see some kid puke up his Happy Meal in the PlayPlace while you’re engulfing that bootleg excuse for a lobster roll. .
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