Fair warning, foodies. Look away now for today we are going to talk about committing a gastronomical gaffe of the first order.
Yes, this is the I-went-to-Paris-and-ate-at-McDonald’s post.
What can I say? I was standing on the Champs-Elysees, taking in the Arc de Triomphe, when suddenly my eye was caught by an arch of a different color, something golden and oh-so-familiar.
Could I? Should I? Reader, I did.
McDonald’s is known as McDo’s (mac-doze) in France and it’s not considered the McDon’t you might think despite being in the land of haute cuisine. Quite a few people I met talked about occasionally popping in, especially if they had children. I think it’s the novelty concept plus the appeal of quick service.
I usually eat at McDonald’s once a year on our annual pilgrimage to Lake Tahoe, so it’s not like I’m a core consumer. But I’ve always been interested in the company’s ability to consistently maintain a certain level of quality, something a lot of restaurants can’t do for a 50-seat dining room, let alone 12,000+ franchises.
I wondered, does that consistency spread all the way to France?
Yes and no. McDonald’s abroad isn’t quite the same. The outlets I saw in France often had separate coffee bars selling macarons and other pastries along with some not-bad coffee. You’ll also find variations in sandwiches, such as the recently launched McBaguette, tailored to appeal to French diners.
But if you want your basic fries and burger, they’ve got it. At the Champs-Elysees branch I ordered a Royal cheese, aka a Quarter-Pounder. It tasted fine although would have been better if it hadn’t been sitting under the hot lamp quite so long. But the fries were awesome and I wasn’t ashamed to dip them in le ketchup.
Let’s give the last word on this to a well-known philosopher, relevant part starts 40 seconds in.
Reminds me of hitting a MacDonald’s in London long ago and (out of patriotism?) ordering a milkshake. What arrived: shaken milk. Literal-minded those Brits.
This reminds me of my own sad story. My son went to a local amusement park near Paris for a friend’s b-day party. And afterward, they went to McDo’s. My kid had never been to one before and looked up at the big menu and didn’t recognize anything. (There is no “hamburger” — it’s all “Royal with cheese,” “Big Mac,” etc.) The only words he knew were “jus d’orange.” So that’s all he ordered. When the other kids were ripping into Happy Meals, he was distraught. He came home at 5 p.m. having only had orange juice all day. I vowed to take him to McDo’s to teach him about the more sordid side of American culture!
That is a sad story! I am glad you stepped up to the plate culinary-culture-wise. But I bet he pronounced that “jus d’orange” with the cutest French accent ever.