Oh, the humanity.
When I lived in France and sat down to luxurious dinners of foie gras, fresh herbed salad, aged cheeses, and to-die-for desserts, sometimes I would sit back, close my eyes, and think … I could really go for some chicken tenders.
No matter how cultured I try to act or what affectations I put on (or how much I really, really like chevre or a chilled Vouvray), I’m a corn-fed Midwestern girl at heart. And, even though gastronomical adventures through another country are exciting, sometimes all you want is a taste of home.
Both fortunately and unfortunately, my plight was all-too-easily assuaged. Throughout my travels, I noticed an assortment of “American” restaurants sewn into the tapestry of the European landscape. McDonalds. Starbucks. Pizza Hut. I think I even saw a Chili’s in Switzerland.
Yes, I am ashamed to admit it, but tho’ the spirit is willing, the flesh is all too weak. I succumbed to my most base desires from time to time … and would pick up a quarter-pounder with cheese from ol’ Mickey D’s.
Guess what, folks? Eating at these “American restaurants” reminds you why you didn’t miss the food in the first place.
And never did I realize this so sharply than I did in my recent trip to Germany, where, against all better judgment, I took a detour from the beer gardens, wiener schnitzel, and bratwurst to visit the Heidelberg Hard Rock Café.
Now, I’ll preface this by saying: I enjoy the establishment known as the Hard Rock Café. I have enjoyed all my visits to this overblown, parody-of-a-parody restaurant chain over the years. I even have T-shirts from several of the locations. They have fantastic hamburgers and even better chicken tenders.
I was in the company of two American soldiers in the lovely city of Heidelberg when we spotted the distinctive sign of the Hard Rock Café swinging above the sidewinding, cobblestone street. How fantastic, we thought – what better place to sit and share stories of the good ol’ U.S.A. than in an establishment that just oozes red, white, and blue?
Plus, I was really in the mood for some mozzarella sticks.
According to Yahoo! Travel, the Heidelberg Hard Rock Café is: “… a renegade incarnation of the popular chain [that] features a surreal blend of American and German tastes … noted are the wide variety of all-day international breakfasts available, and the good drink menu. The casual atmosphere indoors, some outdoor seating, lots of music, and lots of beautiful people make the place popular, especially at night.”
Um.
When we walked in, I couldn’t tell if we were in a Hard Rock Café or some sleazy Euro pub with pretend American flourishes. It was a bar like any other bar – only with posters of Elvis hanging over the booths. And there was lots of music, all right. But instead of Yes or Styx or Eric Clapton, it was Johnny Cash … played over and over again. We must have heard “Ring of Fire” three times in the two hours that we were there. I kid you not.
As for the beautiful people, sure. They weren’t bad. They were, however, all American summer study abroad students and very drunk English World Cup fanatics. Who all sang along to “Ring of Fire” in screeching, tone- and lyric-independent voices.
All this I could have accepted. Sure, the place was charming – not in-your-face touristy – but I could not forgive what came next. I opened the menu and saw … no mozzarella sticks. No chicken tenders. No true appetizers at all. The only thing that sounded remotely appetizing were chips and salsa, which I grudgingly ordered. Which, when they came from the kitchen, turned out to be Doritos served with some watery, tomato-pasty tasting slush.
At least the margaritas were strong.
But here’s my advice, for what it’s worth: when in Heidelberg, do as the locals do. Drink beer. Eat bratwurst. And remember: you’re in Europe to get away from America, not try and pretend like you’re there.
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