I’m looking to inject this blog with more nationalism and xenophobia in order to court controversy and consequently increase web traffic. I would consider a “diplomatic incident” the pinnacle of achievement in this regard. So, without further adieu delay, here are some examples of other countries’ attempts at misleading American citizens into seeming stupid/eating something gross. (My conception of geopolitical machinations approximates rival frat houses having a prank war. If you happen to work in international politics and have a better understanding, or know anything about it, please send me an email.)
Refried Beans: In an effort to deprive us of a (clearly beneficial) second frying, the conniving chefs of Mexico called their bean concoction frijoles refritos, knowing, I’m certain, that we would mistranslate the name. Where I come from (AMERICA), when you attach “re” to something, that means you’re fixin’ to do it again. Apparently, they do things a little different down south: in Mexican Spanish, “re” means “well,” or “very.” Thus, “well-fried beans.” The rub here is that these beans are often baked, not fried. Well played, Mexico, old chap. Or should I say “replayed?”
Sweetbreads: Picture a fluffy cinnamon-infused dough, glazed with cream cheese icing and sprinkled with candied almonds. Now take that picture and set it on fire. “Sweetbreads” have less to do with sweets or bread, and more to do with thymus glands and calf pancreas. England is our oldest enemy (temporary alliance notwithstanding), and it’s fitting that England is a frequent culprit when it comes to naming foods in a purposefully misleading manner. This one goes deep: some 12th-century rascal decided the word for “flesh” or “meat” should be brǣd, and so shall the unsuspecting expect scones and receive gullets for all time. England: 1. Guy hoping for biscotti and getting pancreas: 0.
Oranges: Geolurēad doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. But before circa 1512, that’s the monstrosity you would have uttered in the English-speaking world when referring to the color nexus between yellow and red. Presumably embarrassed, the English language quickly sought something else to call the color. It found a solution in a tangerine-pomelo hybrid that the French were already calling orenge. The name was a mutation of the Arabic naranj, whose descendants can be seen in such words as the Spanish naranja. So the fruit name came before the color name. That this is a vast international conspiracy designed to humiliate the United States is proved by this simple fact: “oranges" grown in exclusively tropical weather are green, not orange. Green! Cold weather causes the chlorophyll to retreat, not unlike the sensation one has when jumping into a freezing pond.
Baby carrots: The name, “baby carrots,” is not misleading unto itself; baby carrots are, indeed, the infantile offspring of adult carrots, brought each spring to the carrot patch by an intrepid stork. What’s deceiving is the myth that baby carrots are simply large carrots, cut to less-intimidating specifications. The product resulting from that process is called a “baby-cut carrot.” “Baby carrots” are immature carrots, bred specifically for their diminutive size and sweeter taste. “Baby-cut carrots” seek to ride the tiny orange coattails of their legitimate cousins. I wish I could pin this on a foreign government. Alas, this is the work of good ole American marketing.
Canadian Bacon: The mendacity of Canadians generally is well-known, but never is their innate deviousness more apparent than when ordering Canadian bacon in Canada. What you and I, and every other red-blooded patriot, call “Canadian bacon” is either A) ham, or B) “back bacon.” While ham needs no explanation, back bacon, if you didn’t know, is a slice of pig which includes both belly and loin. This is a leaner bacon than the fatty belly bacon America calls its own. In a blatant display of Canadian culinary insanity, Canadians’ actual signature bacon—peameal bacon—is a cut of pork loin rolled in… peameal? No. Cornmeal. Typical.
Colonial goose: Not, in fact, goose, but rather lamb—coated in breadcrumbs and bacon. I suppose this is the sort of bait-and-switch we might expect from Australia, considering its somewhat… ahem… unsavory colonial origins.
Bear Claw: This may sound like something one would wear around the neck to intimidate a village one is pillaging. Sadly not the case. An invader with a bear claw around his neck would likely be laughed back into his longboat, as the bear claw of modern times is an almond-flavored pastry. The shape, I suppose, resembles the the mighty paw of a dangerous apex predator, in the right light. But I still feel swindled. If you're struggling to find the scapegoat here, kindly recall that bear claws are a subspecies of Danish.
Gunpowder Tea: This tea’s misleading name led to a very anticlimactic Fourth of July for this patriot. Do not be misled: this tea from the Guangdong and neighboring provinces of China will not explode, no matter what. It is so named for the small pellets into which the tea leaves are rolled, resembling coarse black powder. Or is it? The Mandarin phrase for “freshly brewed” is gāng pào de (剛泡的). Say this quickly in English and the origin of the tea’s name becomes less certain. Another conspiracy.
Tune in next April 1st, when I shall unmask further clandestine treachery in the world of food!
