In Paris they call McDonald’s MacDo. Or at least, that’s what my elementary school French teacher told us. We thought it was so funny to say. “MacDo,” we would chuckle to one other, the word almost as funny as “anana” (which meant pineapple, talk about a false cognate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and “L’Halloween” which read in our minds as “lalloween” and was, therefore, hilarious. What was not hilarious, however, was the reality of Parisian McDonald’s. Now, I (like to delude myself into believing I) am a somewhat cultured gal. I’m an adventurous eater. But seriously, one can only have so many oyster stews and garlic snails and goat entrails before one finds oneself needing something to cling to in a country that is four viewings of Seventeen Again away from one’s own. The McDonald’s on Oberkampf … Read entire article »