AccessMyLibrary provides FREE access to millions of articles from top publications available through your library.
i. I stop at a roadside chip truck on a bright November afternoon. The chip truck worker is an older man leaning from an elevated window over a handful of customers.
--A medium fries with mayo, please.
--You must be Dutch! Only the Dutch eat 'em that way.
--Yeah, I am Dutch.
--You know what else they like on their fries?
--What? No, mustard! Only the Dutch will ask for mustard.
--But you're not actually Dutch.
--Yes, I am.
--No, no. Come on, now.
ii. I am volunteering at a festival, working the doors of an event with a fellow volunteer, a tall, friendly man. We are seated at a desk together, searching through a box of name tags for our own names.
--Your name sounds Dutch, I say.
--Yes, my parents are Dutch.
--I'm from there, too. Do you speak Dutch at all?
--No, not really. A bit of German. But I've been to Holland. To a little town in the north called …