While surfing on the net this morning, I stumbled across this article. For a good laugh, check it out. I’ll reprint a segment of it for you, so you get the idea:

It is not surprising, then, that McDonald’s should have been so successful in Britain, country of the defective palate whose no-budget diners had, till the first branch opened at Woolwich in the mid-1970s, little choice apart from greasy spoons and Wimpy bars. It is more surprising that McDough’s should have succeeded in France and Italy and Spain, countries blessed with very cheap restaurants: but maybe that was never quite the point. The point was that McDonald’s sold Americana: you may not be a romantic psychopath with a cowboy shirt and a rifle in your pick-up and a way of burying hitchhikers but you can still eat in the places such people frequent, in these temples to populist modernity and the people’s plastic airlifted from beside a Texan black top to a rain-slicked high street.

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