Big Mac

The Big Mac was created by Jim Delligatti, an early Ray Kroc franchisee, who was operating several restaurants in the Pittsburgh area. It was invented in the kitchen of Delligatti’s first McDonald’s franchise, located on McKnight Road in suburban Ross Township.[1] The Big Mac had two previous names, both of which failed in the marketplace: the Aristocrat, which consumers found difficult to pronounce and understand, and Blue Ribbon Burger. The third name, Big Mac, was created by Esther Glickstein Rose, a 21-year-old advertising secretary who worked at McDonald’s corporate headquarters in Oak Brook, Illinois.[2] The Big Mac debuted at Delligatti’s Uniontown, Pennsylvania restaurant in 1967, selling for 45 cents.[3] It was designed to compete with Big Boy restaurants’ Big Boy sandwich; Eat’n Park was the Pittsburgh area’s Big Boy franchisee at the time.[4] The Big Mac proved popular, and it was added to the menu of all U.S. restaurants in 1968.[3]

The Big Mac consists of two 1.6 oz (45.4 g) 100 per cent beef patties, American cheese, “special sauce” (a variant of Thousand Island dressing), iceberg lettuce, pickles, and onions, served in a three-part sesame seed bun.[5]

The Big Mac is known worldwide and is often used as a symbol of American capitalism. The Economist has used it as a reference point for comparing the cost of living in different countries – the Big Mac Index — as it is so widely available and is comparable across markets. This index is sometimes referred to as Burgernomics.[6]

Special sauce

The name was popularized by a 1974 advertising campaign featuring a list of the ingredients in a Big Mac: “Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions – on a sesame seed bun.”

Big Mac Sauce is delivered to McDonald’s restaurants in sealed canisters designed by Sealright, from which it is meant to be directly dispensed using a special calibrated “sauce gun” that dispenses a specified amount of the sauce for each pull of the trigger.[7] Its design is similar to a caulking gun.

In 2012, McDonald’s admitted that “the special sauce ingredients were not really a secret” because the recipe had been available online “for years”.[8] It consists of store-bought mayonnaise, sweet pickle relish and yellow mustard whisked together with vinegar, garlic powder, onion powder and paprika.[8]

Ply Magazine

There’s a lifetime of spinning in Leicester. Our Spring 2015 issue focuses on the 3 main Leicester wools: Bluefaced, Border, and Longwool. Brimming with history, fiber studies, breed comparisons, spinning techniques, finishing tactics, and some fabulous projects, this issue will leave you satisfied and eager to sit and spin. If you want to tailspin a yarn that looks like it’s still on the sheep or spin some Longwool for weaving, we’ve got you covered. If you’ve wondered how the 3 breeds stack up next to each other or how to finish this amazing fiber, this issue can help. If you’d like to spin Leicester for softness or to know if you should use BFL or Merino, you’ll find help on our pages. Also, a “who’s that spinner?” that should be called “who’s that shepherd?” and a closer look at our 3 fibers under a scope. Of course Lazy Kate is there to make you laugh and Ergo Neo will help keep you pain -free.


A narrator is a much stranger toy at the novelist’s disposal than is usually thought. It’s not just something as depressingly ordinary as a character—more a vast system of smuggling. And there’s one kind of narrative voice or tone in particular that offers a way to explore that difficult relationship at the hidden center of every art form: the one between writer and reader (or spectator). Although this tone seems to exist most easily in novels, it isn’t only to be found there—it appears wherever anyone tries to figure out what a monologue might mean, or how to talk to a you. It is garrulous, self-aware, hyper, charming, and occurs internationally, but what makes the voice a form is this: Narrators of the kind I mean are adepts of a confessional mode that’s actually designed to exonerate them completely. What could be more dangerous than someone convinced of his own goodness, his own innocence? Someone who believes that what he feels is far more important than what he actually does.

What I like about this sort of voice is that it takes in both the high aesthetic and the dirty political. And in fact perhaps the only route to the dirty political is through the high aesthetic, and vice versa—or at least that’s what this voice makes you think. I have no idea what name to give this voice I’m talking about. It seems to me an as yet undescribed category. So let’s call it something oxymoronic and impossible. Let’s call it the Innocent/Corrupt.

Swimsuit, “Chandra.” Live at PJ’s Lager House (Detroit, Michigan – June 1, 2012)

From George W. Bush, Decision Points. Chapter “Freedom Agenda,” p. 433:

Putin and I both loved physical fitness. Vladimir worked out hard, swam regularly, and practiced judo. We were both competitive people. On his visit to Camp David, I introduced Putin to our Scottish terrier, Barney. He wasn’t very impressed. On my next trip to Russia, Vladimir asked if I wanted to meet his dog, Koni. Sure, I said. As we walked along the birch-lined grounds of his dacha, a big black Labrador came charging across the lawn. With a twinkle in his eye, Vladimir said, “Bigger, stronger, and faster than Barney.” I later told the story to my friend, Prime Minister Stephen Harper of Canada. “You’re lucky he only showed you his dog.”

Cover by Peter Saville, 1980

Jerome Leibling. Brighton Beach, 1995.

Orphan Annie ‘Ritz Cracker’ sweater, 1971.

Havana 1950. Coat and dress by Tina Leser. Model Jean Patchett.

John Huston and Orson Welles, during the filming of the unfinished The Other Side of the Wind. Ph: Mike Ferris.