Bless me, James Beard, for I have sinned. It has been several months since my last culinary confession.
Inspired by a morbid curiosity, I staged an expedition to McDonald's to order a McRib sandwich. I was shocked by the somewhat decent quality of the roll on which the sandwich arrived, and by the presence of pickle slices and sliced raw onion. Of course, the sandwich was drowned in overly sweet BBQ sauce, which drowned out the flavor of the other ingredients (that's probably the point). The processed pork patty was moist but insipid, just a vehicle to deliver the high-fructose corn syrup sauce. For more assertive pork flavor, I'd go to a mom-and-pop for a Cuban sandwich or bánh mì, or roast a pork shoulder, and make a roast pork, provolone, and broccoli rabe sandwich at home.
When the McRib disappears from these parts, I will most certainly not mourn its disappearance.