McDo's

UPDATE:  The Onion knows what I'm talking about!

Thanksgiving has got to be one of my favorite days of the year. Pumpkin pie spice, cranberry sauce, and alcohol abound and there's no pressure to buy gifts for everyone. The major bummer about being in France is that I have to miss out on this holiday, because the French don't seem to know it exists. But I've already given up my Thanksgiving Day Parade, sweet potato casserole, and tarte de citrouille (tahr duh see-toh-eel: pumpkin pie). I'm not giving up on at least some sort of special meal with some other Americans here to celebrate food and American manslaughter. The problem is, how best to celebrate it? Pumpkin pie filling is unheard of, sweet potatoes are nowhere to be found, and no family in France is big enough to buy an entire turkey to roast.

Maybe the most appropriate way to celebrate my American heritage this year would be at McDo's (mak dohs: McDonalds), the one American cultural symbol that the French love to hate, and by “love” I mean “worship”. On any given day in Paris I pass by at least three McDo's, and they're always filled to capacity. It's a glowing symbol to Parisians and the French as a whole of what they think America stands for: guilty, salty, fatty pleasures that are bad for the skin and le coeur (luh coor: heart).

The menu at a French McDo's is a bit comical to say the least. Not only is there your typical McDo counter with your Filet-O-Fish and BicMac standard line-up, but there's also McDo Bistro – an elite branding of McDonald's that sells tarts, macaroons, watery milkshakes in flavors like pistachio and pear, and of course beer. Because what would American cuisine be without a nice cold one to wash all the grease down your throat with? Though I don't think I've ever seen alcohol in McDonald's in the States...I don't know what the hell's up with that. This just seems like a gloriously missed opportunity. Then again, I haven't been to American McDonald's in awhile. Someone get me up-to-date on this, please?

Sadly enough, I'm all too familiar with the McDo's menu because I've been taking advantage of their free wifi for the past month and a half. Braving long lines, enough fries to make my heart shriek in terror, and the all out embarrassing experience of actually having the cashiers recognize me, it's amazing just what I'll do to satisfy my Internet addiction. I even started to get mistaken for one of the many homeless alcoholics who use McDonald's for their “heures de bureau” (or du bwer-oh: office hours) to discuss conspiracy theories and gossip about their friends.

Believe me, the irony of being an American girl moving to Paris and then spending nearly everyday in McDonald's isn't lost on me. If I never walk into McDonald's again, it will be too soon. But I'm thankful for their free Internet and the fact that France's obsession with hamburgers means that there's always free Internet within walking distance in Paris. Even so, I think I'll be choosing a quaint French café over stereotypical American McDonald's food for my Thanksgiving meal this year, merci beaucoup.