By the time I'd flicked through to the fried peanut butter and banana sandwich under a silver dome plate cover, I was quite a fan. I'd like to be an American too. I'd like to forge sincerely ahead, bring my family values to cooking, celebrate Elvis's birthday and live on oyster-stuffed quail instead of boring old toast. I'd like to have tremendous confidence, chat-show genes, charming openness and a larger washing-machine.
And I'd like to have the phone number of whichever US department is in charge of Foreign Aid as I urgently need these ingredients: grits, graham crackers, jack cheese, refrigerator biscuits and vanilla wafers.