McDonald's as high art

McDonald's is a good place to go to experience the tangible effects of the passing years. That's the reason I go, so I can see where we've been and where we're heading. Where are we now? The age of the huge Extra Value Meal and the almost violent desire to collide food with our loud, jabbering orifice. But we get to feel good about this tendency by educating ourselves in art museums about how other cultures eat. \nI'll tell you how this all works. We take the exact opposite, the gorgeous Japanese Kaiseki tradition, and hold it up as art in a famous museum. Meanwhile, on America's wipe-your-mouth-on-your-hand-and-belch end of the spectrum, we're feeling good about our food because all we want is a full belly, not necessarily an aesthetically pleasing experience. \nOK, so it's not some conspiracy with Ronald McDonald and his Fry Guys in a shadowy basement, blowing smoke in face of a hostage Smithsonian docent. But you know what? I feel better about my own gross gluttony now that I have put a robust, patriotic marinade on it. My food sure ain't art. Who eats art? Just gimme a burger, hold the finesse.\nThe Freer Museum of Art at the Smithsonian shows us in its exhibit, "Dinner for Five: Japanese Serving Dishes for Elegant Meals," that a meal, in late 1600s Japanese culture, is nothing like our grab 'n growl American swill fit. Kaiseki was a light meal of several courses incorporating the seasons, meaningful numbering, a tea ceremony and, of course, splendid dishware. The colors of the ceramic were carefully coordinated to accent and enhance the color of the food. Kaiseki meals came in various pre-pondered courses. Number was significant in Japan, at the very least giving a five-person party better aesthetic buzz than the somber, unlucky four-person party. In our country, numbers aren't as crucial except when we lean walrus-like from our driver's seat and order the Number Four Extra Value Meal. And Super Size it. But only because it's more cost-efficient, right? We have every intention of wrapping up the leftovers for later.\nSo there we are, stretching our lips around a great grease hose and turning on the faucet, grunting softly with the euphoria of if all. We might as well. It could shave a few minutes off our lunch breaks, or we could just do it from our cubicles to conserve movement. We can gauge our productivity that way, knowing darn sure things are getting lax when our meals end up in a display case in some snooty museum. It's patriotic lard love-affirmation: food's not supposed to sit there all thought-provoking in a display case, now is it? Leave that to the Smithsonian. Shoved hissing into a cardboard box and accompanied by a boy band endorsement is the way I like my sizzled all-beef patty. And throw in some extra mayo.\nHave you seen the latest and greatest drink size at McDonald's? When you clasp it in both hands and bring it to your face, you feel like a little kid. Personally, I'd prefer just sharing a trough of Coke with nearby customers to avoid an awkward little kid flashback. The zoo elephant sensation is much better anyway. As for holding up one culture's dining style as cause for charging admission and stationing security guards, I don't think anyone could build a display case big enough to showcase our super-sized meals. Not even back in the colonial days when every stray turnip and hog member was thrown into the "pot pie" vortex. \nNot that any culture would want to showcase American eating rituals, and I mean the graphic side National Geographic leaves out. I am not suggesting that at all. I won't even kid myself and say the only reason other countries have hesitated to display the bacon double-cheeseburger in their museums is that they have their own McDonald's around the corner. Anyway, for all we know, "The American Grease Hose" exhibit already ran in some distant land. But the dictator or prime minister or someone in charge was repulsed when he saw Little Debbie Donut Sticks and the Big 'n Tasty offered at McDonald's, and cut the museum's funding and created a decency task force.