Although I am a vegan most of the time, a possibly slightly annoying restaurant patron who frequently orders off menu, and increasingly a locavore, I am not a foodie when I am traveling. I’m not going to Russia or Germany or even France for the food. Italy, yes, a little, but I’m happy going to local dives, ordering gnocchi, and feasting on gelato. I’m there to see the sights, learn the language, and immerse myself in history. Food is mostly secondary, even tertiary.
As every traveler knows, getting around in someone else’s world when you don’t know the customs, don’t know the language, and often don’t know your way can sometimes be stressful. So I take a certain amount of calm delight in visiting U.S.-based franchises overseas. I’ve had a Starbucks latte (in a porcelain cup!) in Zurich, fries with mayo at the McDonald’s by Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin (where condiments cost extra), and a Diet Coke at a Burger King in Moscow. As much as many of us eschew fast food empires, the ease of ordering from a familiar menu is tempting when I am far, far from home.
I wish my local burger joints were as civilized as they are elsewhere. McDonald’s Paris sells macarons; the one in Rome offers all sorts of treats (and, 20 years ago, sold wine to have with your burger). When in Italy a few years back, I gave the Youthful Adventurer his first taste of traveling freedom by letting him go, unescorted, from our hotel at the top of the Spanish Steps to get dinner for us at the McDonald’s near the bottom. He found it and shined—ordering meals for two and paying in euros while a new teenager.
I don’t go to burger joints or American coffee bars every day while I’m traveling, but they offer a comforting taste of home and of ease when I do.
© 2012 by Lori Tripoli
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