Ok, I know this looks like a collection of spore-like furry growths in my fridge, but in fact it's my tribute to America.
You see, having spent most of the past ten years outside the U.S., I'm already plenty used to anti-Americanism and hearing about how we're fat, loud, poorly-dressed imperialists. Bo-ring.
Most of the time I just ignore it, but every once in a while I get pissed off, like the other night at my poetry group, where this English girl read a prose poem she had written in part-19th c. American, part current South, and part nonsense about a cowboy/Southern guy who is surveying his land/valley and, while musing about how big it is/how great America is/how it is the land of the free and the home of the brave, he also talks about wanting Mexicans to die and says the Okies are dumb and oh why can't they all be like the slaves and move to the North. Oh and don't let me forget to mention that she read it with a FAKE SOUTHERN ACCENT.
Look, I don't blame the girl for opting for the hackneyed image of America's great expanse as a metaphor for freedom. If I had lived in England my whole life and couldn't see from one gray cloud to the next I'd probably dream all Grapes of Wrath-like, too.
But leave America's brand of racism and cowboys and history to the Americans and Baudrillard. Go write a poem about living in a class society or drinking tea or saying 'cheers' when you really mean 'thank you'.
Anyway, I got so annoyed about the whole thing that I came right home and baked up some good ol' Americana: buckeyes. I was fuming too much to be delicate about my chocolate dipping, but a hefty dose of Southern buttery goodness and gooey peanut butter made this one of my favorite desserts in recent memory.