It's gloppy, it's soggy, it's un-American.

It's gloppy, it's soggy, it's un-American.: "It goes like this: You're sitting at a large picnic in early summer—plastic forks, burgers, corn in your teeth—when someone leaves the table and returns with a large pan. 'I brought a pie,' he says, setting it down in front of you. A spatula emerges. People coo. This is the start of an unpleasant afternoon.

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