When I first moved to Paris, I was insulted by the comments people would make about American food. "You call that cheese?" they'd say, referring to Velveeta, or "What's for dinner tonight, hamburgers?" It didn't matter that I never liked processed cheese — not even melted over macaroni as a kid — or that I didn't cook a single burger when I lived in France. To them, American food boiled down to burgers and bad cheese (as well as weak coffee, Wonder bread, and other items I'd rather forget), and no amount of protesting could... More >>>