Forget race, religion or National Service, nothing divides Singapore like the McSpicy.
Ever since the McLaoSai exploded onto McDonald’s menus, Singapore has been split into two polarised groups: those who love it, and those refuse to touch the damn thing with a laundry pole for fear of its powerful laxative effects.
I am proudly a member of the former clan. During NS, it was my burger of choice when my unit ordered food into camp. If I’m working late, I invariably go for a Double McSpicy and stress eat in front of some terrible Netflix show before feeling guilty and ordering a salad for lunch the next day.
I love it so much I miss the burger when I go on holiday.
During a recent trip to Sri Lanka, I was enjoying a freshly brewed coffee and a fruit platter on the hotel balcony when I heard my stomach’s characteristic rumble.
In the past, it used to cry for Katong laksa and prata. In 2017, it cries for the McSpicy despite having already ingested a lavish supper of pan-seared sea bass and saffron rice.
What can I say? The body wants what it wants.
Hence, upon my return, I impulsively proposed to my editors that I should spend one week eating nothing but McSpicy while documenting its effects on my body. To justify this frankly (in retrospect) retarded proposal, I quoted Morgan Spurlock and used the word ‘immersive journalism’ like a pretentious twat; as if I was some modern-day Marie Curie advancing the cause of human knowledge.
And so I found myself committed to a week of nothing but McLaoSai meals.
It was already too late to back out and email, “Just kidding’.
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