The train pulled into Eastbourne Terminus with just 20 minutes of the McDonalds breakfast menu remaining. The decision to eat there was born from a need to suppress the hangover which was now encroaching on my consciousness – the previous evening’s excesses rendering my stomach unfulfilled with only alcoholic lubrication and my mind eager to be stimulated by the undeniable junkie high which only chains such as these can deliver. Saying that, I had walked a good 15-20 yards past the golden arches before commiting a U-turn and pushing the doors wide open; the lure of the sea and high-pitched cry of seagulls to blame for this momentary lapse in concentration. I was now entering the artificially cold and familiar surroundings of America’s second most controversial export after it's army. The unique McOily smell that hits you as you walk in, which is duplicated in every single one of their premises across the globe, was now circulating in my lungs and would soon be running parallel with the blood which coarses through my ever tightening veins.
Once in, I thought I’d take a trip down memory lane and purchase the ‘McDonalds Big Breakfast’. I used to eat this once or twice a week back in my college days before the tedium of morning lectures. Then, you could also smoke in McDonalds. This is something now which, like smoking on buses, is
so inconceivable I’m sure I must have dreamt it. After stubbing out my cigarette in one of those disposible mini tin-foil ashtrays I would always order The Big Breakfast, something which I did on this cold morning in Eastbourne.
The breakfast consisted of McScrambled egg, a McSausage slice and a halved McButtered McMuffin bun served with a sick-but-silky cup of scolding hot chocolate. I recommend a couple of McHash Browns too, a crucial supplement as the meal itself, unlike the photo's above the counter which you salivatate over when making you mind up what to have, is disappointingly small in real life. This is something shared with all of the McDonalds range. What really has the ability, though, to set the Big Breakfast’ apart from all of the other breakfast-menu fillers was the addition of something so deliciously simple it makes people who come into contact with the idea it makes them feel temporarily numb.
McCurry Sauce. How the request of a tiny tub of sauce caused such vociferous condemnation from both my partner and the 16-year old girl serving is beyond me. Try before you deny, I say.
Such an accompaniment does not compute with the vast majority of the McDonalds community. I can assure you that mixing the sweet curry sauce with the scrambled egg turns the yellow polystyrine-like inedible blobs into a tasty, exotic, eggy-Eastern delight. I never give it a second thought. I suspect that people will have to actually experience it to wake-up to what they have been missing out on; it is like Rick Wakeman – before you actually listen to ‘
The Myths and Legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table’, your gut instinct is to think of him as a bit of a preposterous cock. With this last thought in mind I knew I had to share the breakfast with my partner, otherwise she’d be forever repulsed by my the idea. I would have the last laugh when I tenderly pass the fork, lovingly topped with this Indian-American alliance, to her to taste. Let the sweet’n'spicy eggy food-bomb infiltrate her taste buds, the explosive taste sensation giving way to the realisation that McDonalds breakfasts… no,
ALL breakfasts would never be the same again…
She thought it was absolutely disgusting and spat it out. To be honest, it wasn’t as good as I remembered and I understand Rick Wakeman is still a bit of a preposterous cock.
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