I grew up in a nutrition-conscious household. We had one small cabinet dedicated to snack food, but Baked Lays chips were about as exciting as that got. The alluring world of oatmeal pies, Dunkaroos, and Hostess cakes existed only in the abundant pantries of the neighbors’ kids. At my house we ate wheat bread, plain yogurt, and topped our ice cream with melon balls. Needless to say, fast food wasn’t on the menu. Now that I’m off to college, I have access to any kind of food I want – but the habits instilled by my smoothie-making, bran-muffin-baking mother have, for the most part, stuck with me. At the very least, it’s safe to say I won’t be spotted at McDonald’s.

However, the other afternoon, fate acquainted me with America’s most popular fast food franchise for the first time since Salad Shakers were kicked off the menu. I was at my friend Eva’s house and two other friends, Paco and Jesús, had gone out to pick up lunch. I assumed they would come back with something Spanish, like Iberian ham, or at least standard, like deli sandwiches. But instead what they brought was McDonald’s.

At first I was surprised – they actually chose to buy McDonald’s? Then for a split second I was concerned – I have to eat it? And then I put on my game face – people all over the world consume this stuff and they’re doing okay. With that, I dug in.

Not only was it actually quite tasty, the meal that followed was the happiest meal I’ve shared in Sevilla. The four of us gathered around the kitchen table and spent as much time talking as we did eating. We laughed and laughed and sat back in our chairs.

Paco is the quintessential, free-spirited goofball. He joked and made silly comments. The glimmer in his eye alerted me when he was teasing, and the laughter to follow seemed even more gratifying with the added sweetness of understanding. And when the quips went over my head, Jesús would explain them to me slowly and clearly, his patience a comfort. When the boys were being totally ridiculous, Eva would give a quick wink or a smile from across the table. “Ignore them,” she said with her eyes.

They taught me Spanish slang and asked me about my thoughts on Obama and foreign policy as if I spoke for the entire nation. I taught them about the sport of lacrosse – they’d never heard of it. We you-tubed each others’ favorite musicians and found our homes on Google World. Questions and curiosities whirled around over the pile of fries at the center of the table.

So I learned to take my nose out of the air. The value of a meal can best be measured by the communion shared over it. At home it happens over grilled chicken breast, free-range, certified 100% organic. Here it happened over breaded nuggets. The food may be different, but if human connection is the goal, either suffices. Pass the fries, please.