Seems to me the point of frequenting a fast-food joint abroad misses the point of traveling abroad. Aren’t we trying to escape the same-old, same-old for a bit?
Of course, there’s always the temptation to drop by to see if there’s any difference.
For instance: We already know Quarter Pounders with Cheese aren’t Quarter Pounders with Cheese in France, thanks to Pulp Fiction.
Actually, Vincent Vega, it’s not a Royale with Cheese, it’s a Royal Cheese.
I’ve generally stayed away from places like Mickey D’s because — even before seeing Super Size Me and those other chilling documentaries about the fast-food industry — it didn’t feel right on so many levels. (But somehow, Yodels are OK. Yeah, I know.)
Truth is, thought of a burger abroad makes me especially sick. (Back in caveman days, during my college junior year abroad in Italy, one from a Venice bar had me in the bathroom all day. A bathroom where the toilet was a tile floor with a hole. Still remember being plastered to that floor.)
I confess I bought a Royal Cheese in Paris in the recent past because I was famished and couldn’t walk another step. It was the same reliable taste of home, but I felt stuffed and out of sorts afterward.
How do you say that in Francais? Bleh?
If you must, here’s a list of some of the more-exotic offerings at fast food places abroad. Dunno about the Curry Beef Donut (with sugar?) in China. And the Coffee Jelly Frappuccino at Starbucks in Japan.