Drive-Thru Dreams - Adam Chandler Page 0,58
Preservationists of American heritage deemed the story of the Filet-O-Fish worthy of enshrinement, partially because the sandwich represents a bygone chapter of the national story.
“You fellows just watch,” Ray Kroc carped to a pair of Catholic executives after the Filet-O-Fish became a permanent item. “Now that we’ve invested in all this equipment to handle fish, the pope will change the rules.” And, as it turned out, Pope Paul VI and the Second Vatican Council did slacken the fasting regulations in 1966 to modernize and adapt Catholic practice to accommodate postwar cultural shifts. While one result of Vatican II was a decline in the fish-on-Friday tradition, a broader decline in observance appears to have already been underway. The brief revival of faith that took hold in the United States in the 1950s ultimately diminished as the chaos of the 1960s unsettled the old order. Americans now sought out new ethics and different assurances.
Like the Filet-O-Fish origin story, the foam container on display at the museum is also something of a relic. In a nod to more earthly concerns that had taken root in the American mainstream, McDonald’s declared that it would phase out the foam packing for its sandwiches in 1990. Later, in 2002, the Filet-O-Fish would appear in a thrown-out lawsuit by two Bronx teens claiming that McDonald’s had made them obese. Not long after, the sandwich became a popular tool used by military interrogators to curry favor with detainees at Guantánamo Bay. Then, in 2013, McDonald’s announced that its Filet-O-Fish would only feature wild Alaskan pollack that had been certified as “sustainable” by the Marine Stewardship Council. (Like many purity-themed labels, the significance of the new designation was quickly challenged by critics.)
These tiny footnotes each reflect the evolution of American values and priorities. Like the sways of US politics or the Alaskan tides carrying wild pollack, they ebb and flow and contain multitudes. Plenty of devout, tradition-minded Americans still observe meatless Fridays, while other environmentally and health-conscious consumers have latched onto initiatives like the snappier, more hashtag-friendly Meatless Mondays to demonstrate their commitments. Fast food is one of the major connective threads between the two, offering a sense of affiliation.
The Filet-O-Fish and the Jack in the Box taco, items that are both over fifty years old, embody a bond that exists between fast-food chains and their fans that is special, aspirational, and bordering on abusive. Every year, companies experiment endlessly, laboring to create the next outrageous offering that might become equally sacred in the culinary canon. To stave off menu fatigue, they run new items through test markets and hope they catch on or reprise limited-time classics such as the McDonald’s McRib to inflame old passions.
A successful fast-food item is not just a Herculean culinary feat. To invent just one of these fleeting marvels of taste and science, one not only has to nail the evolving sweet spot of a trend-obsessed population, but do so without allowing an item to become too expensive, too difficult to make, or too far beyond a set of core ingredients. To captivate consumers that are already texting while driving, fast-food companies rely on intricate, genius gimmickry and wacky marketing, jingles and slogans, baseline appeals to id and comfort, a hucksterism both grand and unflinchingly American. “We’re in the temptation business with the LTOs [limited-time offerings], not the education business,” said Jim Taylor, the senior vice president of product development and innovation for Arby’s. “If people don’t really know what it is, they are not going to be attracted to it. But by the same token, if what you’re giving them is something they can get anywhere else, they’re not going to pay attention and come into the store specifically for us on an extra visit.”
This challenge can be quantified. According to industry research, nearly 60 percent of all trips to fast-food restaurants are on impulse. “You’re not just coming up with the flavor of the day, you’re telling stories with your food because that’s how you connect with the consumer,” Amy Alarcón, Popeyes’ vice president for culinary innovation, explained. “So we’re as much about the food and the inspiration and the story behind it that makes it relevant, that makes someone get off the couch or drive over three lanes of traffic to come to one of our restaurants.”
However, given that fast-food fandom is symbiotic, once in a while the customers themselves bring the mountain to Muhammad. Or in the case of Arby’s, they bring the Meat Mountain to Muhammad. In 2014, word