This article explores the author's love for fast food and how their travel experiences have led to indulging in various global fast food delicacies. From Finland's Hesburger to Thailand's 7-Eleven, the author takes readers on a journey of their fast food escapades, highlighting both classic and lesser-known favorites.
I have a dirty secret: I love fast food . The well-oiled meals that can perform magic tricks, making packaging disappear as it slowly absorbs a sickening amount of grease. Gross, yet I still give in. Most often than not, the thrill exceeds the taste. Granted, I don’t eat takeaway habitually as I feel naughty doing so. But what doesn’t make me feel guilty is eating fast food overseas.
I sheepishly justify it as a cultural experience as I meander through cities and towns, scouting for my next bite. Frequent sightings – through shopfronts, marketing, and enticing deals – of these convenient stomach fillers make me subconsciously crave them. And I pander to it.In France, there was a period when purchasing a McDonald’s Happy Meal was more cost-effective than a standalone cheeseburger. My Dutch friend, whom I travelled with, reasoned the thrifty feed “good economics”. Surely I would agree? But this isn’t an ode to the Golden Arches; I’m shouting out lesser-known edible icons. I’ll start with Hesburger. Finland’s answer to the aforementioned is found in several European nations, particularly around the Baltic Sea. Like its American counterpart, its famed double-beef burger has its own magic sauce: a white cucumber mayonnaise. Ten years on, I still sing its praises. I fell for the currywurst upon my second visit to Berlin. Invented in 1949 by literal Spice Girl Herta Heuwer, it comprises a bratwurst cut into bite-sized pieces smothered in a curry sauce (a mix of tomato sauce and curry powder) and sprinkled with seasoning for extra tang. The German housewife’s revered nosh is like an adult’s version of the ’90s kids’ party-pleaser cocktail frankfurts with bottled tomato sauce, strangely addictive with each toothpick.Heading next door, one instant gratification I have mixed emotions about is the Netherlands’ FEBO. The legendary Dutch automat displays various deep-fried snacks – sausages, croquettes, nuggets, burgers – behind individual small doors appearing like brickwork. The croquettes remind me of a: both sausage-shaped and deep-fried, with unidentifiable fillings disguised as thick goo. From sludge to sodden is Istanbul’s “wet burger”. Multiple vendors, including institution Kizilkayalar in hotspot Taksim Square, sell Islak hamburgers: a beef patty doused in garlicky tomato sauce served in a small bun. What’s in a name? The burgers are stacked on top of one another in a steamy glass box, their own mini hammam. To me, they are the epitome of meat sweats. Let’s talk about London’s corner store champions, chicken shops. These no-frills takeaway joints with tired, decades-old signage offer many fried chicken combination packs with chips and a canned drink, usually for a few quid. While living in London, I had a brief stint as a chicken shop connoisseur, devouring wings galore. I wouldn’t dare to think how long they’d sat in the bain-marie.My biggest weakness is from Thailand’s 7-Eleven. For years, I quietly judged travellers indulging in pre-packaged ham and cheese toasties over similarly priced streetside pad Thai. It wasn’t until one day I was hungover and finally conceded to see what the fuss was about. A realization rang loud like 7-Eleven’s two-chime doorbell. I finally saw the light.Another honourable mention goes to Chile’s Italian-style hot dog. Its name draws from the colourful toppings resembling the Italian flag, topped with fresh tomato chunks, smashed avocado and mayonnaise. Truthfully, I’m not sure how my Nonna will feel about this hot dog homage to the motherland. My questionable food habits mirror my wardrobe choices. I have no shame in wearing my counterfeit Nike slides with the KFC logo from Bali. I’ve given into Spam in Japan’s Okinawa, buying an oversized T-shirt featuring a smiling boy endorsing the iconic tinned meat. I’m a fan of Hawaii and Japan, and Spam weirdly embodies a bond between the two, post-World War II
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