As a kid, I loved going to McDonald’s. It was one of my first experiences with American food, as I had grown up largely on Vietnamese pho and other variants of the cuisine. In fourth grade, a drive-through window at a McDonald’s granted me my first taste of barbecue sauce; my first bites of cheese. As much as I hate admitting that I grew up loving (and still kinda have an affinity for) fast food, I really do have to credit the genre for making me less picky about what I eat.

I occasionally go back to those drive-thru windows, albeit when I’m hungry and broke or when I’m having a bad day and all I want to do is wallow and feel even worse. The price of a meal has increased since my first time, but the taste of the burgers and sauce haven’t changed.

What did change, however, were McDonald’s apple pies, which provided me my first-ever taste of apple pie. Back then, they were little pockets of glossy mush, tasting of nothing more than sugar and cinnamon. There could have been anything in those things – apples, peaches — and no one would have noticed a difference. And, most importantly, they were fried.

I LOVED those things. My mother would drive us to McDonald’s and, in front of the drive-thru speaker, we would engage in little arguments over whether or not my behavior warranted one. In her eyes, I was a hyperactive, unruly child who could live without the treat. In my eyes, my mother didn’t love me and was depriving me of one of life’s greatest pleasures. These were epic battles.

It was during this time that I learned the art of making a deal: I proposed to rake leaves, baby-sit my cousins for free and morph into an absolute angel, in exchange for one of those apple pies.

Each time my mother relented, it was like I had won a battle. Each pie was a prize for my efforts. My mom would hand me a little rectangular red box emblazoned with a food-porn photo of the apple pie, and I would eat its contents voraciously, tasting victory with every bite. It didn’t matter if I had to rake the yard or do extra chores. I had won.

One day, it so happened that I emerged a winner from another of our battles and was handed a new box. Still red, but with a different photo on the front. It was one of McDonald’s new apple pies – baked.

These things lacked everything I loved about the old ones: The chewy, blistered crust, the super-sugary mush. Instead (and probably what most people like about them), they had a flaky crust. Sprinkled with cinnamon, and with the taste of apples. I was not a fan.

After that day, I actually did become the angel I had always promised to be: Shy, reserved, ordering just what was necessary to quiet my hunger. Apple pie? No thank you. I never had a McDonald’s apple pie again.

Since then, I’ve eaten dozens of slices of apple pie – some fantastic, some inedible, some I’ve made myself – but nothing has come close to the feeling of biting into those awful little pockets. But, as I’m pleased to announce, there is a happy ending to this story. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” below for more)

I had just moved to Irvine, Calif., to be closer to my workplace. The area was still unfamiliar to me, and my roommate and I spent many evenings exploring the shops and restaurants. On one of our outings (after a particularly bad day in which the only cure was an equally bad meal), we came across a KFC drive-thru. I noticed there were apple pies on the menu, but they weren’t worth a second glance. My roommate saved me from what would have been one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

“You want an apple pie? They’re two for $1,” he asked.
“Sure, why not?” I replied. I had nothing to lose.

And there they were, the fried little pockets of apple mush that I had so missed for all of these years. The only way I can describe my feelings at that very moment is by comparing it to the feelings of hugging an old friend for the first time in almost two decades. I had found a taste of familiarity in a place I was unfamiliar with. It was perfect.

Though I’ve graduated to a better palate, I still can’t help but get excited when I’m within a half-mile radius of a KFC, just knowing that at any given time during business hours I can order those little pockets of fried heaven. It’s not the best apple pie I’ve ever had, but it was the first. And you never forget your first.

– Cynthia Furey

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 11th, 2008 at 2:27 pm and is filed under At the table. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.