I love Arby's. Arby's roast beef. I love it!
I do not proclaim this ironically, nor jokingly. Not being sarcastic or cynical. Not looking for laughs or approval. Not fearing disdain or disagreement. Simple truth: I love Arby's.
My introduction to Arby's was in Denver, 1977. I was wandering the streets because, this being before home computers and cell phones, it was sometimes necessary for even the laziest of us to get out and perambulate.
While perambulating, I spotted Arby's. I’d never heard of it before, but it was lunch time. I bought an Arby's roast beef sandwich, fries, and a Coke. I loved the sandwich SO much that I bought a second sandwich and stuffed it into my gaping maw.
This was a momentous discovery, and that night at the theater (performing HARVEY) I spread the gospel of Arby's. I could not praise it enough.
Next evening I arrived for the performance and was immediately confronted by Frank, our Elwood P. Dowd. He was more than unhappy. Frank was frankly furious. He explained to me in coarse and angry terms that he and his wife, on my recommendation, had ventured to Arby's that day. He said, "how could you direct anybody there? How could you suggest that anybody eat that garbage? It was disgusting!”
I took it from his tone that he did not like the Arby's roast beef sandwich. This was hard for me to understand but he was genuinely and loudly serious about it. I sort of apologized and we never mentioned it again.
Soon, there was an Arby's in Clarksville, Indiana, on the road in front of the Greentree Mall. As everyone knows, it was a legal requirement back then that anyone living within a 10-mile radius must visit the Greentree Mall at least once weekly. It was wonderful to have Arby's so handy, but … immediately across the street from Arby’s was Wendy's. If there was anything that I loved in this world as much as Arby's, it would be Wendy's.
You see my existential crisis. Approaching, I could see on my right, Arby's, on my left, Wendy's. I was so torn between these twin poles of perfection that I would usually pull into the Arby’s lot and have a think. Too often I opted for Arby's simply because, well, I was already in their parking lot. But sometimes I thought “NO! This is a Wendy's day!”
One legendary afternoon I did both. Instead of my usual two Arby's roast beef sandwiches or two Wendy's hamburgers. I bought one Arby’s sandwich, crossed the street and bought one Wendy’s hamburger. Scoff if you will, I thought it a Solomonic solution.
My favorite Arby’s story has nothing to do with me, but it was in the newspaper so it must be true. In those days some people still valued the truth.
When the Arby's franchises first opened, they served genuine roast beef. But soon they realized that they could save money and simplify things by offering "pressed, formed beef". That’s the Arby's Roast Beef I love.
When the corporation switched from beef to pressed, formed beef, one franchise holder was unhappy. He felt it was cheating to advertise roast beef and serve pressed, formed beef. This singular man owned a franchise in Louisville, home territory. He felt so strongly about it that he-- on his own dime --continued to serve genuine roast beef though it cost more. His was the last Arby’s anywhere to hold out. But not for long, not because of the difficulty or the expense, but because he was getting complaints from his customers. Something was wrong with the meat because it didn't taste “like Arby's.”
You see the irony. Because he was serving genuine roast beef as the sign promised, because he went to the expense and effort to provide what he felt was proper service for his customers, his customers complained. He was forced to accept pressed, formed beef.
I think perhaps this sad tale of American consumers rebelling against the genuine in favor of the artificial is a fair metaphor for the difference between America in 1977 and what-calls-itself-America today.
Nevertheless, pressed, formed beef…I love that stuff.
