8 July – Happy Independence Day!

Last Friday was the Fourth of July, and whilst it is July 4^th in quite a few nations, it is only The Fourth of July in the good ole US of A.  As this was my first major US holiday to be celebrated as an ex-pat, I decided to do what any red-blooded American would do: I imposed MY traditions and national identity upon the natives.  True, I did it with a picnic and beer vs. the typical weapons of choice, and I do hope that the lovely new friends who joined me did not feel put upon nor invaded, but it did get me thinking about the nature of being an American.

Ok – this is not completely true.  This thought has been niggling around my mind for about a week.  We were out celebrating our move to a new office, and someone asked me what I was, and like anyone from the US*, I answered, “Irish, Scottish with a smidge of German”.  This is how my fellow citizens answer this question.  We don’t say “I’m an American, ”** unless with a leaden sarcasm that never comes off as witty as the speaker assumes, or it is assumed that you are a scary American of the evangelical – Bush-loving-everyone-who-doesn’t-look-just-like-you-hating kind of American, and I don’t have the pleasure of socializing with many of that ilk.

The ISsoG answer was not terribly well received by the questioner.  To him this meant that I either had no national pride or identity or worse, I was co-opting a culture and history that was not my own, and he’s mostly right.  At least in the way people from nations more prone to Nationalism have pride and identity in their homelands – but more on this at a later date.

In the US, we identify ourselves by our regional qualifiers.  There are a few reason for this – one clue is in the country’s name – we are the united States.  We know we are a country (we have the currency, passports and stamps to prove it), but we are much more a patchwork quilt kind of place.  Our accents, political leanings, religious tendencies, educational direction, food and drink preferences, sports loyalties (both type of game and name of team), concepts of the nature of family, et. al can be inferred by where we are from.  These are not set in stone rules, of course there are variations within families let alone states, but, if to a fellow American, I said that I was from north of Boston and spent the last 14 years living in New York, a mental pencil sketch would form of where I might fall on various spectra of belief and preference – and they would not be far off***.  They would assume that I’m a democrat, a baseball fan (Red Sox Nation – Challah!), work in some form of media and occasionally talk funny.

Since I’ve been living in the UK, I must say that I’ve found that I bear certain traits that would mark me as an American from a kilometre away.  We are louder than Europeans.  I have no idea why, but we are a loud people.  We are very smiley and free with a Good morning! How are you! Have a great day! when getting morning coffee, grocery shopping, getting on the bus, etc.  We’re helpful if we can be and if we can’t, we may very well stay with the person in need until we can find someone who can in fact help them.  Add these to a penchant for black tea, iced coffee, tipping and bagels that are not just round bread, and you pretty much get an American (or an American, Becky-style).

I’m kind of excited about this, and it took moving to another country to figure it out – to realize that I’m not just a New Yorker or New Englander, I am also an American~.  I get weepy at that Lee Greenwood tune, football/soccer will never capture my heart,^^ I know the lyrics to the national anthem, the difference between the Declaration of Independence and The Constitution and remember where I was when the Challenger exploded.  I was thrilled when Mikey liked it and comforted by the fact  that it was always time to make the donuts.   I may now be an European, but part of me will always be an American.

Before I leave, I just want to give a shout out to all those lovely people who celebrated with me on Friday with a special BGtL honour to Sarah McD, who dressed in Red, White and Blue and even brought food to the “American Supper”~~ and to Louise G who downloaded the Star Spangled Banner onto her phone to play for me and our fellow imbibers at the Devonshire Arms.

And this went over really well: Ex-Pat Pesto Pasta Salad

1 Bag – Fussili pasta

1 medium jar – Hellman’s Mayonnaise (must be Hellman’s, not sure why, but it must be)

1 medium jar – Basil pesto (or 2 ice-cubes worth if you make your own)

1 small – Red Onion, chopped

3 – 4 stalks – Celery

2 cloves- Garlic (minced or pressed)

Olive Oil

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Bring salted water to a boil and cook pasta till al dente. When done shock the hell out of it (we needn’t a mayonnaise related illness)~~~

Heat oil in skillet and sauté the garlic.  Add onions and sauté until soft.

Mix the pesto with the mayonnaise to taste and hue preference

In batches, to ensure that all the parts gets its fair share of coating, mix the pasta and pesto mayonnaise.  Stir in some of the onions and garlic mixture and the celery.  Repeat until all the ingredients are mixed.  Salt and pepper for good measure, and if you’re feeling fancy, toss with a bit of truffle oil.

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*well, the gist is there, with your own ancestral detail used instead.

**This person does know I’m from the States, and this is true: I am from the States – I am Irish, Scottish with a smidge of German….you get the idea.

***On the big picture stuff; it would take them longer and much more patience to realize that perhaps I’m more than just a bit odd^

^Then again, I just assume that the people I know and love are a little bit odd, so maybe not.

^^Though the American version also leaves me cold.

~Some might even say Wicked, f@#k£$g American

~~English for Pot Luck

~~~Hey look!  Irrational American fear that food and all good things will kill you in an instant.