Going Dutch: reflections on nation, race and privilege.(Essay)

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]

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?

--Peanut sauce.

--What? No, mustard! Only the Dutch will ask for mustard.

--Oh, really?

--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 …