There couldn’t be anything more domestic about the International House of Pancakes. Their “German” pancakes, for example, are just American pancakes that the chef has stepped on, thrown against the wall, and slathered with lemon butter.

One shudders to imagine the American tourist in Germany. He or she orders breakfast, stares down at the plate in disbelief, and signals for the waiter: “I’m sorry, you’re going to have to take these back. And could you please give me directions to your nearest IHOP? I’m looking forward to sampling the cuisine of your fine country, but I really need to have it cooked right.”