McDonald’s Macarons
How U.S. fast food took over the world — and then went local.
OCTOBER 10, 2024
When McDonald’s opened its first Italian branch, in Rome in 1986, Valentino, the mononymous fashion designer, was outraged. He complained about the “significant and constant noise and an unbearable smell of fried food fouling the air,” and took legal action against the chain.
He wasn’t the only one to be upset. Thousands of Italians gathered in protest, furious at what they perceived to be the Americanization of their beloved capital. Some passed around perfectly cooked plates of pasta to fellow protestors just to make a point.
But the effort to stop McDonald’s in Rome ended up being just a blip in history. Today, the Italian capital has over 50 McDonald’s locations. Globally, the fast-food chain appears to be unstoppable: It opens an average of 20 new stores every month, and about 60 percent of its locations are international. The Economist still uses its Big Mac Index, launched the same year McDonald’s opened in Rome, to measure if currencies are under or overvalued.
There are 40,000 McDonald’s spread across 100 countries, servicing nearly 69 million customers daily — a figure surpassing the population of France or the United Kingdom.
Passion for the brand, and other United States fast-food chains, is arguably more pronounced outside the U.S. than inside the country — a phenomenon I never understood nor appreciated until I moved abroad. Raised in the suburbs in Southern California, the drive-thru capital of America, I took fast food for granted. It wasn’t until I moved to East Asia for work — first to Hong Kong, then to Taiwan — that McDonald’s became something I craved, a reliable source of comfort.
When I was pregnant with my son, Taiwanese food — which I love and cook often and even wrote a cookbook about — made me devastatingly nauseous. Instead, I found solace in Burger King’s Whopper, french fries, and squeaky chicken nuggets from McDonald’s. The dense salt-licked flavors of America kept me steady and reminded me of a time when my biggest worry was whether or not I would finish collecting all the Hello Kitty Happy Meal toys. I found it miraculous that although I was 6,800 miles from Southern California, I could easily buy and consume a hamburger in the same clamshell container I grew up with.
When the first McDonald’s crossed international borders (to Richmond, Canada in 1967), the U.S. was the world’s reigning superpower. There was no place with the same economic, cultural and military might; many people worldwide believed it to be the superior place to live. My parents bought into this narrative. In the 1980s, they left everything they knew in Taiwan to move to the U.S., where I was born and fed a steady diet of Happy Meals.
Since then, American fast food has saturated every continent; you can order a Big Mac in virtually any corner of the world. There are 40,000 McDonald’s spread across 100 countries, servicing nearly 69 million customers daily — a figure surpassing the population of France or the United Kingdom. Subway and Starbucks have almost as many branches — with 37,000 and 35,000 locations, respectively. The ubiquity of these brands is a testament to America’s cultural hegemony.
Today, America is no longer the only economic or military giant in the room; China is right on its heels. Still, appetite for American fast food has not diminished. Just this year, McDonald’s announced that it is accelerating growth in China and plans to open 4,000 more stores by 2028. But if “Americana” is the marketing hook, what keeps people coming back to these places is the food. And the food is no longer all that American.
McDonald’s is a franchise comprising a large network of small business owners servicing their local communities. These local entrepreneurs infuse regional flavors, textures and trends into their menus to appeal to their customers.
In China, McDonald’s breakfast menu includes chopped up century egg mixed into a thick chicken porridge. In Saudi Arabia, customers wait patiently until sundown for the Ramadan special: a McArabia Chicken pita sandwich with a soft serve ice cream. In Argentina, a McDonald’s dessert can be alfajores, sandwich cookies filled with dulce de leche caramel sauce. In France, there is the McBaguette — a baguette stuffed with two burger patties, two slices of Emmental cheese, lettuce and French mustard.
These aren’t gimmicks; they are strategic choices. McDonald’s is a franchise comprising a large network of small business owners servicing their local communities. These local entrepreneurs infuse regional flavors, textures and trends into their menus to appeal to their customers.
This strategy is so effective that it’s become textbook for all major American corporations. Starbucks in Japan serves yuzu citrus tea. In Mexico, Pizza Hut serves bastones la lechera — dessert breadsticks filled with sweetened condensed milk. Sometimes, the customizations are more subtle. On a recent trip to a Taipei mall, my husband bought a Krispy Kreme donut that tasted identical to its American counterpart, save for one crucial difference: It was noticeably smaller, calibrated to suit Taiwanese portion preferences.
Gary He, a photojournalist and the author of McAtlas: A Global Guide to the Golden Arches, told me these kinds of adjustments are how big brands break into foreign markets. “Local owners control the marketing and look for the flavors that will sell and the style of food that will help people acclimate to the brand.”
I met He earlier this year at an afterparty in Chicago for the James Beard Media Awards, for which we were both nominees. The venue was a Michelin-star restaurant, and I was ogling one of the hors d’oeuvres, a giant twisted Cheeto-like monstrosity sitting on the table disguised as a modern art sculpture. The staff started to break off pieces and serve them in an aluminum bag with dehydrated cheese and pulled pork, when suddenly a friend tapped me on the shoulder and introduced me to He. “This guy is writing a book on McDonald’s!” she shouted happily. He handed me his business card; it had the color scheme of a hamburger.
In the U.S., fast-food chains are utilitarian spaces, a means to an end. A place to pick up a quick fix on the way home without getting out of one’s car. Yet abroad, many are proper sit-down restaurants and have become destinations — places of leisure, pleasure and even joy.
“I just had this idea in my head for years,” He told me on a video call after the event. “I was interested in what this giant company had to do to adapt to local environments.” For his book, He spent six years photographing and documenting hundreds of McDonald’s in more than 50 countries.
With its international outposts, he noticed, McDonald’s had reinvented itself as a premium brand where people hang out with their friends and family. “These McDonald’s are air-conditioned, have clean bathrooms, and just allow people to sit there as long as they want.”
In the U.S., fast-food chains are utilitarian spaces, a means to an end. A place to pick up a quick fix on the way home without getting out of one’s car. Yet abroad, many are proper sit-down restaurants and have become destinations — places of leisure, pleasure and even joy. For many people who might never set foot in the U.S., these restaurants represent the platonic ideal of America: a land of convenience, efficiency and modernity wrapped up in a paper bag with a side of fries.
When I was in my early 20s on vacation in the southern Chinese city of Xiamen, my boyfriend at the time and I went on a date at a restaurant perched atop the city’s tallest building. It served wine and an expansive view of the city below. The restaurant was Pizza Hut, and our pepperoni pizza arrived on proper plates accompanied by silverware. They served the same squeaky cheese pizzas as they did in the U.S., but instead of being a greasy take-out joint, Pizza Hut was now a luxurious all-American fine-dining establishment for people who, quite frankly, didn’t know any better. (The menu also featured chicken soup, hot soy milk and a side of stir-fried broccoli with garlic.) I remember enjoying a glass of red wine and feeling giddy about it all.
“What is fast food?” He asked me rhetorically during our call. “Chinese food is fast food. Italian pizza is fast food. Falafels are fast food. It’s just a blanket word that people toss around.”
America does not have a monopoly on fast food. What it does have is a draw so powerful that franchise owners worldwide often feel compelled to adopt American branding or imagery to attract customers, even when serving their own traditional dishes.
When I lived in Hong Kong, one of my guilty pleasures was swinging by KFC after work for a Macanese-style egg tart. The custard filling was smooth and pudding-like, cradled in a buttery, flaky crust. It had a wonderfully caramelized brûléed top that shattered like glass when I bit into it. I also appreciated how the tarts were always served piping hot.
The one thing that has remained consistent is that these spaces will always serve comfort food — whatever that might mean for the local clientele.
I felt guilty for buying egg tarts from an American fried chicken conglomerate when I was surrounded by dozens of local Asian bakeries doling out the same confectionery. The thing was, KFC’s version was better, and I couldn’t quite understand why. It wasn’t until I was sent to Macau to film a story on the dessert that I learned the truth: KFC had bought the original recipe from the Macanese bakery that put these tarts on the map. And because they were being produced by a massive chain, I could count on the tarts being exactly the same every time I bought them — consistent in texture, temperature and taste. Even better, I didn’t have to go to Macau to pick up the tarts. I could buy them in my neighborhood.
The macarons launched in 2007 at the McCafé flagship store in Paris have a similar origin story. At first, “representatives from the brand stunned skeptical journalists” when they revealed the confections are made by the same company that produces macarons for the high-end pastry chain Ladurée,” He writes in his book. McCafé sells these macarons around the world, including in China, where Ladurée has three stores. “There are 2,500 McCafés in the country, many of them carrying macarons at far more accessible prices,” He writes.
Mostly, the local delicacies gain widespread international appeal because they are associated with America. “It’s cultural imperialism,” He says. “We’ve been able to influence the world with our brands.”
But perhaps that’s not the whole picture. Sure, to some degree these chains are Americanizing the world, but the world has had just as much of an impact on them: Egg tarts are available at KFC’s throughout Asia. Macarons can be found in McCafé locations across Europe and Australia. This dynamic has a term: glocalization — how global products are adapted to respond to localized needs. The one thing that has remained consistent is that these spaces will always serve comfort food — whatever that might mean for the local clientele.
In 2022, a tourist in Rome posted a viral TikTok about ordering a block of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese at Italian McDonald’s. Her video racked up 4.9 million views.
When I saw the video, I wondered what Valentino and the Roman protestors of 1986 would make of McDonald’s in Italy today. They staunchly believed that the hamburger chain’s presence, with its cheap American offerings, would erode the city’s rich culinary traditions. What they didn’t account for was how seamlessly McDonald’s would weave Italian ingredients and dishes into their menu.
McDonald’s left a comment on the TikToker’s video: “When in Rome.”
IMAGE: Original illustration + macaron photos from Freepik
✺ Published in “Issue 21: America” of The Dial
