Yankoholic

I’ve just started reading Possible Side Effects, the latest book by Augusten Burroughs. As I’m counting the (59 to go) days until I go to San Francisco, I was amused by the second story in the book where he talks about a trip he made to London. He seems to idolise the UK in the same way I idolise America. Breathless with excitement on the plane, he arrives in the city to marvel at the combined familiarity and subtle differences in market branding.

It’s fun seeing the usual things in the stores but with different names and packaging and, like him, I often find myself thinking that the holiday version is somehow better. A Chocolate Ho Ho is so much nicer than a Mini Roll, and a cherry soda is a US-only treat. In London I can rarely find places I want to eat, but in Manhattan last trip I fell in love with the salad tossing bars and there were pizza slice stores on nearly every street.

Their downfall, as Augusten has noted, is the potato chip. My waistline is a monument to Walkers and Jack Daniels, and while the JD flows with abandon in America, the crisp is a very different matter. Augusten takes a trip to a nearby store -

"… not five seconds after walking into the store I stood there with throbbing satanic ears looking at a package. Slow Roast Lamb and Mint Sauce Potato Crisps. It can't be, I thought, but then it was. And there were other flavours, too <snip>

"I began to suffer, I could buy a bag but I knew what would happen. I would take them back to my room and within the space of four chips, I would become addicted. And then in four days I would be three thousand miles away from more <snip>

"We have No Salt, as though that's an acceptable flavour. And these loopy, gin-soaked Brits are whooping it up with chips in a Noah's Ark of animal flavours."

Without wishing to be smug, it is true. What's appealing about their Sour Cream and Chive? Or Ranch, that basically tastes like smoke? After a week of Ready Salted Lays (their best alternative), I am hankering for a Sweet Thai Chilli, or even a good old Cheese and Onion.

But it’s not really the food, the best thing about America is the accents. On a walk down the street in London people’s voices annoy me. If they’re particularly loud or dull I might cross the street to get away from them, but in America it all sounds so much nicer. The cute little inflections and way Americans are often more expressive. They seem to find it easier to bear their souls and be honest, free from the tyranny of the British stiff upper lip.

I always sulk when I get back to the airport and hear nasty English voices again. I scowl and sit in the corner and pray for a seat by a yank. I wonder if I can interest Augusten in a flat swap.