If you ask me what I think of as “so American,” my brain short-circuits a little bit. Visions of flags, fireworks and all things red, white and blue on the 4th of July immediately pop into my head. But beyond that, I draw a blank. Everything else is pretty universal, as far as I can tell.
Well, my friends who live overseas would like a word.
They remind me quite how American something like football is. Not soccer—American football, which you don’t actually use your feet for. OK, I’ll give them that one. But then there are things like prom, homecoming and red Solo cups. Wide, open highways and cross-country road trips. Greasy-spoon diners, county fairs and trick-or-treating. And let’s not forget malls, where I spent the better part of my very ordinary and apparently very American teenage years.
While we know that life is different elsewhere, we don’t quite realize it until someone looks at us like we’re nuts and we have to explain why Black Friday is even a thing. (To be honest, I’m not sure if I can explain that one.) But when I look at that list above, I get an immediate feeling of being home. It’s all so familiar that simply reading about it feels like being wrapped in a warm blanket. The simple pleasures in our very American lives just may be the best—and that list is just the start. So on America’s 250th birthday, the Reader’s Digest editors decided to celebrate all of the little things that we tend to take for granted but our lives wouldn’t be the same without.
Read on for our favorite parts of American life—and see if your favorites made the list.
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S’mores
The first bite is always the best. The melty chocolate, the perfectly toasted marshmallow oozing out the sides and the satisfying crunch of graham crackers all come together in one sticky, sweet masterpiece. It’s gooey and impossible to eat neatly—which just might be why we love s’mores so much. One taste, and suddenly you’re transported back to smoky campfires and summer nights.
For me, s’mores are more than just a dessert—they’re practically a family tradition. I can remember having them at almost every family gathering growing up. Whether we were hanging out around a backyard fire pit or gathering with friends for bonfires, somebody always brought out the marshmallows and chocolate. While waiting for our turn to roast the perfect golden marshmallow (or accidentally setting one on fire—which I secretly don’t mind, because I like mine with a little crisp), we would tell scary stories and share funny memories that somehow got better every time they were told.
That sense of togetherness is part of what makes s’mores feel so American. The treat itself dates back to 1927, when a recipe called “Some More” appeared in the U.S. Girl Scout handbook, Tramping and Trailing with the Girl Scouts. One bite apparently wasn’t enough, and the name eventually became the shorter—and much cuter—s’more.
But what I love most is how customizable they are. Sure, the classic combination of milk chocolate, marshmallow and graham crackers is hard to beat, and it’s my personal favorite. But there are endless possibilities. Some people swear by dark chocolate, while others prefer white chocolate. Peanut butter cups, cookies, strawberries or even flavored marshmallows can completely transform the experience. No two people seem to make them exactly the same.
In a way, that variety reminds me of America itself. Our country is made up of different backgrounds, traditions and tastes, yet somehow those differences come together to create something uniquely wonderful. Pair that with the history of the ingredients themselves, and it’s easy to see why s’mores feel so quintessentially American: Graham crackers were born in the U.S., marshmallows have roots in ancient Egypt and chocolate traces its origins to Central America. Individually, they come from very different places, but together they create something far greater than the sum of their parts.
Maybe that’s why this humble campfire treat has endured for generations. It’s not just about the chocolate or the marshmallow. It’s about the stories told between bites, some that linger long after the last sticky fingers have been wiped clean. And honestly, who hasn’t looked at a perfectly toasted marshmallow and thought, I could definitely have s’more? —Mariah Thomas, Associate Editor
High school football
Tickets to NFL games are pretty astronomical these days, and not everyone lives in a great college town. But a few bucks will get you in the stadium to support your local high school team—and you’re guaranteed to feel a closer connection to that team than you’d expect.
As a kid who grew up watching professional and college football on TV, the players always felt more like superheroes than real people to me. But when I went to the local high school’s games, I recognized the players on the field. I spotted my friend’s older brother, a neighbor from down the street and, eventually, my classmates. Those kinds of connections make you root harder for your team, and they’re not limited to the parts of football that happen between the white lines. There are marching bands (some of which have more than 300 members!), plus cheer and dance teams.
I live in Texas, where football is like a religion and the local high school stadiums are our churches. Outsiders can view these facilities with suspicion, and that’s understandable. “Do you need a $40 million behemoth with 10,000 seats and a video board the size of a gas station?” they ask. To which we reply: “Don’t you want the best for your kids?”
All that emotional and financial investment in our high school football team makes sense to me at about 6:58 p.m. every Friday. That’s when the bleachers are packed and the team comes charging onto the field to the sound of the band playing the fight song at full volume. It gives me goosebumps every time.
High school football is the American melting pot, played out in miniature across countless fields in the fall. We may come from different backgrounds, disagree on politics and carry different beliefs. But after both teams take the field and the national anthem plays, it’s hard not to feel like we’re all Americans—even if I want my team to beat your team. —Cameron Songer, Newsletter Editor
Diners
Decisions, decisions. The pancakes are calling to me. But so is the massive BLT with the perfectly crisped bacon that is almost too big to take a bite out of. Oh, but wait—there’s also the rice pudding, scooped high into an old-fashioned ice cream glass. Even as I consider the options and glance at the picture-perfect cakes behind the glass display, though, I know what I’m going to choose.
“Fries with melted mozzarella and a side of gravy, and an egg cream, please.”
That was 16-year-old me, anyway. After three straight years of ordering this combo during late-night diner runs with my high school crew, I’m pretty sure I was half fries and egg cream by the time I graduated. I’m not going to lie, I still have a soft spot for that order, but since then, my palate has expanded to all the deliciousness offered at a diner.
It’s comfort food to the max—and not just because of the food itself. A diner has the same classic feel, no matter where you go, and a surprisingly similar cast of characters. And while I was born well after the Grease-style vibe of the ‘50s diners with their bright-red vinyl seats and the black-and-white checkered floors, some still have mini jukeboxes affixed to the booths. Whenever I see those, I get a flash of nostalgia remembering how I begged my mom for quarters so I could play music while we ate. (And, naturally, argued with my brother over the selections.)
The very first “diner” was actually a horse-drawn wagon, believe it or not. Created way back in 1872 in Providence, Rhode Island, it was a place for workers to grab a late-night bite. And even as the concept changed and expanded, it never lost that very normal, very casual, very American vibe. But maybe the best part was the community that formed around these little pop-up spots. They were the original “nicest places,” where the waitstaff knew the regulars and welcomed them at any time of the day or night.
For me, the diner, no matter where it was, was my first regular spot—one that was both wholesome and affordable. It was the place where my parents took us for a special splurge. The place where my high school friends and I recapped a Saturday-night movie. The place where my college friends and I stumbled into for hangover food the morning after. The place where I now take my kids when they want fries with melted mozzarella (and I really don’t want to cook).
And every time I go to a diner, I visit that in-between mental space of nostalgia and new memories that makes me feel like I’m home. Just with cheese fries. —Dawn Yanek, Deputy Editor
Country music
It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but I love country music. I know some people think country songs are all about drinking beer and driving pickup trucks. And, yes, there’s a lot of that. But those tropes exist for a reason: Facing an empty glass or the open road lends itself to the vulnerable, confessional songwriting that country music is known for.
I first heard the phrase three chords and the truth in a Carly Pearce song called “Country Music Made Me Do It.” I thought this was Carly’s clever way of describing the genre, but it’s actually been around since the ’50s. Obviously, “the truth” reflects that candid, unfiltered honesty in the lyrics, while “three chords” gets at the simplicity of the arrangements—not “simple” as in unsophisticated, mind you. Rather, “simple” as in uncomplicated, easy, elegant even. Much like the cowboys who show up so often in them, country songs are unfussy and unpretentious.
Many country artists write or co-write their own songs, and almost all my favorites (Chris Stapleton, Kelsea Ballerini, Maddie & Tae) consider themselves songwriters first. The stories they tell in their music are intensely personal yet incredibly relatable, because they’re singing about things we’ve all experienced: the magic of falling in love, the sting of losing it and the redemption of overcoming that. You don’t need to ride tractors, raise cattle or grow up in a small town to know how it feels to be in their boots. And because they’re so forthcoming about the lowest of their lows—their mistakes, regrets, disappointments and self-doubts—it makes the highs more rewarding. They’ve earned their newfound love, their self-worth and, yes, that cold beer on a Friday night.
I love country music for the compelling stories it tells, and those stories are largely (though not exclusively) American stories. And not just because they’re set along interstates in Fords and Chevies or at honky-tonks with Tennessee whiskey and Kentucky bourbon nearby. No, the most iconic piece of Americana found in country music is the freedom of forging your own path and the rugged determination to do it. —Emily Goodman, Senior Editor
Cowboy movies
If you polled a hundred random people and asked them what the quintessential American art form was, the Western would be right up at the top (though jazz might like a word). One of the earliest movies ever put to celluloid was a silent short called The Great Train Robbery (1903), and the genre has been floating in and out of the American consciousness ever since.
I am here for it. Urban Cowboy? I catch it at least once a month. The Electric Horseman? I never stop trying to find this no-longer-streaming gem starring Robert Redford and Jane Fonda. No Country for Old Men? Why did you go back for that money, dude?
Now, let’s be clear: Although I was raised in Oklahoma and now live in Texas, I am, at best, peripherally connected to cowboy culture. I grew up on a golf course, not a ranch, and while many people in this part of the country have a pair of boots and possibly a hat that they could pull on in a Western-themed emergency, I am not one of them.
But Westerns are for everyone, and they tell a story of a nation that is constantly reinventing itself. When reformed outlaw Will Munny (Clint Eastwood) comes to terms with his violent past in Unforgiven, we recognize our own story and things we’d rather forget. When Bud (John Travolta) leaves his tiny Texas town for Houston in Urban Cowboy, we totally get why he’d ditch his old life and head to Gilley’s.
Westerns do have negatives, especially the early ones that presented a decidedly sanitized version of American history. The violent westward expansion of the frontier and the forced removal of Native American tribes to my home state of Oklahoma have been frequently and shamefully underrepresented.
But one thing I love about the genre is that it lends itself to reinvention as easily as jumping on a horse and riding out of town. (To be honest, I don’t know if this is easy. Like Po Campo in Lonesome Dove, I prefer to walk.) The great Western director John Ford saw that the cowboy movie didn’t do justice to the depth of the American experience, and his The Searchers in 1956 ushered in a wave of revisionist Westerns—from The Outlaw Josey Wales to Little Big Man to David Milch’s more recent, and spectacular, Deadwood.
It’s this capacity for blunt self-criticism that makes Westerns great. To paraphrase (because this is a family website) Deadwood’s profane, brilliant Al Swearengen: We’re all of us haunted by our own thoughts. So make friends with the ghost—it ain’t going anywhere. —Ally Childress, Editor
Thanksgiving
There are a lot of things that come to mind when I think of Thanksgiving: buttery dinner rolls, a turkey we’re all worried might be dry, and football games on TV from dawn till dusk. The spread of food is something to behold, and we marvel at everything from the green bean casserole to a juicy ham that seems to get bigger every year. Don’t even get me started on the debate over fresh or jarred cranberries—sometimes it doesn’t even get touched!
We graze on appetizers for what feels like an eternity, and the cocktails keep flowing through dinner. If I’m around relatives I haven’t seen in a while, I’m answering questions, but in reality, I’m dodging a lot of them. Before we dive into the bounty of food, we take a minute and say what we’re thankful for and, of course, compliment the hostess.
In between servings of mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing and glazed vegetables, we’re thinking about where we are on holiday shopping or if we’ll brave the crowds on Black Friday. And eventually, some guests decamp to the living room, while others take a turkey nap. There’s always a cast of characters lingering around the table causing their own type of entertaining chaos.
Before you know it, it’s time for dessert! These sweet treats have been passed down through generations, and the table isn’t complete without apple and pumpkin pies. Brownies and cheesecake are a must, as is the whipped cream. The men are usually lost to football at this point, and the women tend to reminisce about holidays past as they load the dishwasher and clear the table. Leftovers are a hot commodity, and I’m grabbing turkey legs, stuffing and whatever is left on the dessert table. Hey, you snooze, you lose!
At the end of the day, I head home with a happy heart and warm memories. —Lindsay Barton, Social Media Editor
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