Nationalist bile leaks all over foodstuffs which like languages seem to be so much grounded in their special ecology, their ring of mountains, their big river, and which like languages are: phonetic/vibrational sympathy with place is real, terroir is real – but also real is the endless shaivist dance of people over the rind of this beloved burning sphere. Apples wandered west from Alma Ata along the spice-road with the cinnamons and cloves and nutmegs that the dirty euro-lords were needing so badly in those days to mark their class difference: as amurrikan as apple pie, a promiscuous medieval fusion food with Central Asian roots! Likewise, for unnecessary example, eighteenth-century London slang is full of Hindi words on account of the gypsies who held such lovely & subtle sway there then, the gypsies having wandered from India centuries before; and a Turkish sweet-shop in Bergama was perfectly manageable by me with my Greek as all the pastry-names one learns in Greece are already Turkish.
>>SPIT!<<
It's like my old Phanariot grandfather used to always say, "Nationalist bile is the worst sauce."
***
"The Dutchmen [(Deutsch-"men")] of Pennsylvania's hills and valleys loved sauerkraut so much that they not only honored New Year's dinner with it, they even wrote poems and songs in its honor. During the First World War, when an edgy government attempted to rename sauerkraut "Liberty Cabbage," a fighting Dutchman named Charles Calvin Ziegler wrote these lines in its defense:

'Liberty Cabbage' now's the name,
But the thing remains the same.
Has it not the old aroma?
Is not "Liberty" a misnomer?
Why discard the name as hellish?
When the thing itself you relish?
You may flout it and may scold –
No name fits it like the old.
When applied to Sauer Kraut,
Liberty, beyond a doubt,
Loses something of her halo.
Should this little bit of reason
Be adjudged an act of treason
You may thrust me into jail O,
But in spite of all your pains,
SAUERKRAUT it still remains."