A treatise on cupcakes and identity politics

I went to school in Europe for a year, and the most important thing I learned while I was there is that Europeans hate it when Americans claim to be other nationalities. You know the thing we do, where a moderate helping of Gallic ancestry makes you "French," or, say, that a smattering of Scottish blood obviously means you are descended—loosely, of course—from Rob Roy.

My family says we are.

I learned this the hard way, by making a similar statement to a new Scottish acquaintance and having her look at me like she'd suddenly discovered gum under the doorknob.