We now return you to your regularly scheduled trip through the Wing of the Humanities.

It was closing in on the middle of the day, and the children especially were starting to get a bit hungry. (When pony foals start chewing on their pencils it's not because they're feeling thoughtful.) By fortune we had worked our way down the hall and were in sight of our salvation. We were standing at the threshold of the highlight of the new wing, the pinnacle of any public vestibule layout, the hub about which the wheel of the museum truly turned:

The food court.

"All right children, do you all have your lunch money with you?" Cheerilee asked.

"Yes, Miss Cheerilee" came the sing-song reply.

"All right then, go and get your lunch, whatever you like--- but stay in the food court," she called after the rapidly scattering foals. The chaperones scattered as well, trying to run herd on their allotment of colts and fillies.

It was like most food courts anywhere, a sizeable acreage of open floor filled with scattered tables and seats, all four walls lined with walk-up restaurants of various pedigree. There was even a surprisingly familiar looking children's play center in the middle... slides, ladders, explor-a-tubes, ball pit, the usual.

The franchise names (did Equestria have franchises? ) were unfamiliar to me, but I could see, and smell, what each miniature restaurateur was offering. I sighed and prepared for a bit of counter-hopping; the differences in Equestrian and human diet made getting a properly balanced meal--- as opposed to getting either a carb and starch loaded, or even indigestible one--- a bit of a challenge. You'd think it would be simple as not eating the hay fries; you forget that chefs everywhere use a variety of ingredients in all their food. It took some serious analysis and careful questions to avoid purchasing, for instance, salads with clover and hay in them, or roasted tubers that had been made from toxic flower bulbs. How different is it? Hint: the flower shops sell packets of salad dressing to go with their bouquets.

My protein needs also made for a considerable challenge. Thank God for eggs, nuts and beans. Thank God also that Equestria had trade with several carnivorous and/or omnivorous races, and thus had to accommodate them from time to time. As it was my royal dietician (yes, they gave me one of those, too) had been forced to stoop, on occasion, to rifling through the pet food section of the Canterlot market....

 

I looked around at the various offerings available, debating on what would be my best option, and nearly had a heart attack. At one end of the food court was a restaurant done in red with gold trim, and a familiar pair of golden arches.... "Oh God no," I whimpered. "She didn't. She wouldn't..."

She had. Princess Celestia... or to be fair, Celestia and Luna.... had built a McDonald's.

Hat Trick, Cloudwing and Bright Dawn regarded me in confusion. "What's wrong, Arthur?" Hat Trick said. "I heard about this. It's a recreation of the most popular restaurant in your world. I would have thought you'd be happy to see...."

I sat down and rubbed my face with my hands. "It is," I said glumly. "--- for a given amount of 'popular.' But that's not the real problem. You do recall being debriefed on the dietary habits of the human world?" The three of them made various faces, but they nodded. "Yes, we do know you eat meat," Bright Dawn said. "It's just--- one of those things. I mean, gryphons eat meat... we all own pets that eat meat...."

"Yes, but do you remember the hangup you had about the kind of meat?" I said. "How incredibly difficult it was for me to explain....and how long it took for everyone to understand...."

"Oh, you mean about 'beef' and 'pork' and...." Cloudwing started to say, then cut himself off. You could almost hear the coin drop for all three of them. "You mean this restaurant..." He pointed at the glowing arches.

I sighed. "Yes. That franchise, back on earth, sells chicken, pig, and cow."

For those unfamiliar with Equestria, allow me to summarize: chickens? Pigs? Family pets. Cows? the hot topic of the moment was whether cows should get to vote. Describing a typical McDonald's menu to an Equestrian is akin to telling a typical American that the new restaurant down the street serves peopleburgers and dog mcnuggets. It had taken great effort to convince the ponies in my immediate acquaintance that the cows of Earth and the cows of Equestria were distinctly different animals.

To the average Pony, this McDonald's was the equivalent of a gift shoppe in Auschwitz that specialized in lampshades.

I got to my feet, leaning on my cane, and made my way forward. My bodyguards, unusually somber, clustered around me. I felt, somehow, like it was I who was doomed to be made into meat patties and served to a ravenous populace. It was a McDonald's, all right. From the lit menu overhead to the registers to the meticulously mopped tile floor to the clamshell grills visible in the back. They even had a plastic Ronald McDonald statue sitting on a bench inside, grinning vapidly and frozen in mid wave. The only visible difference was that the bored looking adolescents in paper hats all had hooves. Curiosity got the best of me. I stepped up to the counter and peered in the back and oh my God they had a cow running the grill Celestia you sick sick SICK---

I leaned against the counter, gobsmacked. The gawky colt behind the register regarded me curiously. "Can I help you today, sir?"

I stared at him with haunted eyes. "Um...."

He tried another tack. Brave boy. "Would you care to try our Big Mac deluxe combo?" He asked hopefully.

I glared at him in fascinated horror. "You did NOT just ask me that with your friend the cow standing right there..."

"Sir?"

Cloudwing tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a brass plaque mounted on the wall nearby.

 

 

Below, in smaller print:

 

 

Well I KNEW that. I hardly suspected they were grinding up potential customers and making patties out of them. It was just the sheer cognitive dissonance of the whole concept..... the plaque, at least, should help with preventing fainting spells amongst the museum patronage. Nothing quite like a bit of intellectual obfuscation in Latin to cover one's tail, either. I let my eyes rove over the menu. A surprising number of items remained unchanged; hot cakes, hash browns, all the beverages, french fries---

"Those," I said, pointing at the menu. "Hay or Potato?"

"Um, potato," the cashier pony said. "All the recipes are as close to the human originals as possible. Authentic human cuisine," he said with a bit of boast in his voice.

"Hmm," I said, giving him the gimlet eye. He grinned apologetically, apparently realizing who he was talking to. "Big Mac combo, please, side of mcnuggets, and a strawberry shake," I said. I put my money on the counter. Watching him ring up proved futile; still I had not unravelled the mystery of how these ponies managed to use keyboards! "What are the, um, patties in the burgers?" I asked casually.

"They're something called 'Boca,' " The cashier said, shrugging. "Recipe they got through the gateway somehow. The chicken and fish are real, though. You have to specify if you want a McChicken, or a Chicken McChicken." He turned to the ice cream machine. "You said strawberry, right? Hey Elsie," he yelled back into the kitchen, "the ice cream machine's low!"

The cow flipping burgers (dain bramage!) in the back set down her spatula. "Oh, okay, Grilly," she called back cheerily. "Just let me go put on the milking machine---"(1)

I held up my hand. "Hold the milkshake," I said firmly.

By the time I received my tray of food, I wasn't sure whether I was experiencing nostalgia or surrealism. I picked up my tray and turned around-- only to nearly drop it in surprise, as Cheerilee, the mane 6, and Cheerilee's entire class were standing right behind me. "AAAH! Oh, hello everyone," I said.

Everyone peered past me. "Does this place sell HUMAN food?" Snips asked.

I looked down at my tray. "Ah, well technically yes," I said.

The response was unanimous. "COOL!"

I found myself assisting the herd in ordering their food. After the fourth go-round I broke down and told the cashier "happy meals for everyone!" The group was satisfied with this, and we all took our seats to dine. My guards all ordered salads, as did Rarity. Most of the others went with "What he got"--- reference, moi--- except Rainbow Dash. She just had to one-up everyone and ordered a Chicken McChicken sandwich... to poor Fluttershy's horror. She sat there chewing her chicken sandwich defiantly while everyone stared at her.

"It's not liable to hurt her," I reassured Twilight Sparkle. "Back on Earth, horses were known to eat meat on occasion."

"Really?" Twilight said in fascinated horror.

I nodded. "Tribes on the tundra sometimes fed their horses meat to get them through terrain where no grass grew," I said. "Some horses have gone carnivore-- It's rare, but it happens. Even attacking humans, killing and partially eating them. Alexander the Great's steed, Bucephalus, was allegedly a man-eater, just for one.... ahhh, perhaps not the best topic for dinner," I apologized to the circle of slightly green faces around me. "So how's the sandwich, Dash?"

"Meh," she said with her mouth full. "Not as good as a daisyburger."

"Whut're you doing there?" Applejack asked, watching me peel the top bun off my sandwich.

"Just... confirming the composition of my meal," I said. Ketchup, mustard, pickle, special sauce, diced onion, cheese--- the patty looked to be soy. "Ah yes, Boca Burger," I said, reassembling my "Big Mac." "Popular brand of soy meat substitute back on earth." I took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.

"Well, does it taste as good as back home?" Pinkie Pie asked.

"Better, actually," I said with an ironic grimace, taking another bite of my sandwich, " The patties are larger and well grilled, and seasoned well. The lettuce is fresh, as is the cheese, and if I don't miss my guess the buns are locally baked. The fries are crispy and flavorful, and the, ah, nuggets are plump and juicy."

  "which shoots authenticity all to hell, really......Something you have to understand; Mcdonald's was one of the first fast food franchises. It became a major success based on its cleanliness, its quick service, and on the reliability of its product--- a cheeseburger at any McDonald's was the same no matter which one you went in. They're also cheap and affordable, which makes them even more popular. But being the most popular restaurant in the world isn't the same as being the best. Or even, to make a point, good."

I put down my "burger" and started in on my fries. "McDonald's food, back on Earth, is kind of known for being sub-par. Oh, edible enough--- but the sort of thing you chose because nothing else was available. Their quality has been slipping for years. They survive these days largely by appealing to kids, the younger crowd.... bland, predictable, non-shocking food that comes with a smiling clown and a toy? Perfect for children. For everyone else?" I shrugged. "It's basically people-fuel. Eat and go. At any rate, by now they're such an institution that they could coast for generations. They're sort of a study in prosperous mediocrity."

"I'm having a little trouble understanding how everyone can hate this place and it can still be the most popular restaurant in the world," Cheerilee admitted.

"Well, it's not that everyone hates McDonald's. It's not even most people....Most people like it well enough, or are indifferent to it." I pondered. "Now, mind, there are some people--- well, for them, hating Mcdonald's is an ideology."

Puzzled glances were exchanged. "Iiii don't think we quite follow," Twilight said.

"Well it's like this. Most people who don't like McDonald's say 'I don't like McDonald's, I'll eat somewhere else.' Then there are people who say "I hate McDonald's, I want the government to come in and tear down the building so I can set fire to the rubble.'"

"And what has them so hostile?" Rarity said.

"It's a bit complicated..they don't hate the food so much as they hate what they think the restaurant stands for...among other things, McDonald's so big they've become a de facto symbol for  "American Imperialism," as it were."

"American Imperialism? So America is conquering other countries and forcing them to eat their food?" Fluttershy said. "That sounds mean."

"Weird, but mean," Twilight added.

I had a brief vision of Ronald Reagan, made up as Ronald McDonald, holding some third-world peasant in a hammerlock and punching a Big Mac into their open mouth with his fist. "Eat the burger! Eat it for FREEDOM!"

...I shook my head to clear it."No, you misunderstand." I searched for the words to explain the modern concept of Imperialism. "It's not that America is conquering anyone or forcing them to buy stuff.   It's.... it's just that American things... like McDonald's... are very popular with the common people wherever they go. And this upsets people who see our culture as dominating everything, and who want a different culture to be on top."

"So they're calling you all an Evil Empire," Applejack said slowly, "'cause you bring stuff that people like more'n their stuff?"

"Um...." I chewed for a minute. "I suppose that's a relatively accurate summary."

"Sounds like a bunch o' sour apples," Applejack said.

"That too." I nodded. "There are people...elitists... who simply seethe with envy and spite and arrogance. Nothing makes them angrier than seeing  ordinary people choose a McDonald's burger over whatever the spiteful people think they ought to eat or ought to like. Elitists don't think the lowly peasants--- that's you and me-- should think for ourselves. They don't think we can. And it drives them to bilious fury when we insist on doing so." I took a long slurp of soda. "Almost as much as when the choices we make prove them wrong. They think everyone should be 'equal'.... and when one group does better than another, that's proof to them that the winner cheated."

"That's.... tragic," Twilight Sparkle said. "You're telling me that these 'elitists' dedicate their lives to tearing down a restaurant?"

"No. Just to tearing down anything that doesn't match their vision of utopia."

"What's Utopia?" Pinkie Pie asked.

I dipped the last of my fries in ketchup. "One possible translation," I said dryly," would be Nowheresville."

I found myself distracted by the chatter coming from the colts and fillies. They seemed to be rooting out the prizes in their happy meals; the cry "look what I got" seemed to feature in the conversation a lot. Curious, I turned in my seat. "What's going on?"

"Our meals came with a toy!" Pipsqueak exclaimed in delight.

"Oh really?" I said with a grin. "Mind if I see?" Pip nodded and handed over a small cellophane bag. I held it up; the writing on the bag read "My Little Human." Inside was a pudgy, cartoonish, yet easily recognizable figurine of.... me.

Trollestia strikes again.

 

---

 

1)and that's why cows don't need day jobs.