France arguably leads the world in gourmet cuisine.

The world's top chefs, including Robert Ash, Alain Llorca and David Passard, charge hundreds of Euros for a lunch prix fixe. But their legendary restaurants compete on the streets of France with America's fast-food exports.

Slideshow: French v. U.S. Fast Food

On a recent trip to Lyon, one of the world's hottest cities in which to take gourmet cooking classes, I set out to taste test what American corporations have brought to a country that arguably invented the modern culture of food.

Seattle Star Competes With Cafes

The stereotype of France is one of killing time over espresso in the endless cafes that line every street.

I'd barely stepped past Lyon's opera house on a busy central square when I saw the familiar mermaid of Starbucks beckoning me. Nearly noon, it wasn't bursting at the seams but there were a few people inside.

The décor was exactly like an American Starbucks, and most of the fare was the same -- Frappuccinos, espressos and black coffee. I ordered a vente Sumatra -- the dark blend for the day -- and a chocolate chip scone. The scone was very bland and not very chocolaty. I threw more than half away. In the land of specialty pastries, this seemed like a real waste of money.

The Sumatra blend, too, was blander than at home. The beans are one of my favorite in U.S. Starbucks stores for their rich, dark, slightly earthy taste, but the French version tasted like it had too much water for the amount of grounds.

My total bill was 5.70 Euro, or more than $7.50.

Back home, the Dublin, Ohio, Starbucks I visited had never heard of chocolate-chip scones, but their blueberry version was much better and I didn't leave a crumb. The bill was $3.70.

Golden Arches Beckon

McDonald's was packed with French-speaking people at 1:30 p.m. on a Thursday. Located in the bottom of what appears to be an 18th-century building in the middle of a busy shopping district between the Rhone and Saone rivers, the restaurant interior looked like I had just walked into a techno club, only brightly lit. It was the third McDonald's I'd passed in about 25 blocks of walking.

The entire first floor was taken up by neon and digital menu signs, the counter and the kitchen. An ultra-modern seating area was upstairs.

There were five registers and five attendants. The staffer I got spoke English, but still managed to serve me a Royale Deluxe meal when I asked for a Big Mac. I had a choice of the regular-sized meal or a super size. I also had the choice between French fries and Potatoes Deluxe -- a sort of deep-fried potato wedge sprinkled with what looked like paprika. The Potatoes Deluxe were served with a white sauce whose first ingredient was creme fraise. The sauce was kind of a cross between mayonnaise and tartar sauce.

The Royale Deluxe, which is the Royale with Cheese made famous in "Pulp Fiction," plus a sauce that looks a lot like a New Orleans remoulade, tastes very bland. My favorite part of the sandwich was its petit size -- it's very American McDonald's in taste but in a smaller portion.

On the Potatoes Deluxe wrapper, the protein, carbohydrates, calories and sodium content of that bag of fries is spelled out. On the side of the burger carton is the info for the Royale Deluxe. You don't need to visit the Web site when you get home to see how much damage you did -- it's right there! My burger had 570 calories and 36 grams of fat. My potatoes had 220 calories and 11 grams of fat.

Back home, my Quarter Pounder box included nutritional info but the fries didn't. With no sauce like the French sandwich, the Quarter Pounder feels bigger but comes in at just 510 calories.

The meal deal, priced at 5.80 Euro ($7.77), comes with a small Coke Light. The potatoes were also sized like an American small.

In Ohio, the $4.79 regular-sized meal deal includes a medium fry and a medium drink.

Subway Puts Up Sandwich Fight

If McDonald's has a knack for trying to blend into the surroundings, Subway stays absolutely true to its American roots. The sandwiches offered are exactly what you'd get at the Subway on your block -- the Subway Club, the vegetarian, the meatball marinara. You get the same bread choices, the same toppings, even the same Lays chips.

While the French did not invent sandwiches, the country is certainly noted for its artisan meats and cheeses and hearty breads. The Subway I visited was across a very slim alley from a real French sandwich shop. But Subway often features a crowd out the door over lunch.

I ordered the vegetarian. After a week's worth of eating France's crusty breads, going back to a soft American hoagie was an unwanted shock, but the quality is certainly true to the brand you'd recognize at home. The sandwich had exactly the same white lettuce, the tomatoes, cucumbers, pepperoncinis, green peppers -- however you'd build it at home, right down to the same choice of sauces. The mustard I ordered for mine, though, was the one standout difference. It wasn't marked spicy -- a choice you get at Subways at home -- but it had a horseradishey, wasabi-like quality to it that was a pleasant surprise. It opened up my sinuses with each bite, but it didn't have that Mexican-food kind of hot that stays with you for 30 minutes after you're done eating.

A French sub costs 3 Euro (or about $4) for a 6-inch, the American cost is $3.49.

Log On For Pizza Hut France

Pizza Huts are on many French corners, too. I used the Internet to order from a Pizza Hut in Lyon a few blocks from my hotel. For 21 Euro ($28.14), I got a meal deal of cheesy bread sticks, a small pan pizza and San Pellegrino water. You could also get 1.5 liters of Pepsi, Pepsi Max or tea.

There was a yawning gap in the U.S. menu and the French menu. Sure, you could order Pepperoni Lover's, Supreme or beef. The dough options were "classic," which appeared in the photos to be the equivalent of hand-tossed. Pan was pan and the Stuffed Crust option also appeared to be the same as at home. However, the toppings options also included margherita -- sauce and cheese -- Provencale, which is tomato sauce with mozzarella cheese, tuna, onions and black olives; Campagnarde, which is creme fraise with mozzarella, ham, onion and mushrooms; Montagnarde, or creme fraise, ham julienne and onions. These are options way off the reservation at home -- I never get the option for creme fraise in Ohio.

Now, this creme fraise and the version I experienced at McDonald's certainly aren't the same product that famed chef Bruno Sohn imports 900 miles for soups at his pricey French restaurant. In Bob Spitz's book on French cuisine, "The Saucier's Apprecentice," Sohn said of that cream delight "you don't want to know what it costs." In fast-food creme fraise, there wasn't a lot of the sour cream-like tang -- in fact, both were pretty bland, but it does show an effort to offer what French palates like.

I ordered the Campagnarde. Pan pizza Lyon style is exactly what you'd expect in the U.S. The difference I noticed was that neither the pan pizza nor the breadsticks seemed quite as greasy as at home, but also lacked the sourdough taste I've liked at home. Also, there was no marinara sauce in which to dip the bread sticks.

Delivery was free and arrived exactly 30 minutes after we ordered it. The delivery guy, on his Pizza Hut emblazoned scooter, rang our room with hot product in roughly the same proportions of food you'd get at home.