Graham, Pat and Hidden Valley Ranch

These days, life generally chugs along with nary a blip on my “Attencione! Foreign County!” radar. What once seemed odd or confusing is now convention. What once seemed scary or off-putting is now de rigueur. Eight months since I first set foot on these rocky shores, it seems, dare I say it, life has become more or less normal.

Or so I think…and then something weird happens and I’m suddenly taken back to those early days of streaking tube stops and hiding at my desk. This week I discovered a difference between the US and the UK that’s so divisive, so inexplicable, so just, wrong that I felt I had to write about it (even though I have no idea where I’m going to go with it).

Here’s the deal: Brits do not know about s’mores. Not that they don’t like them or don’t care about them, they actually have never in their lives heard the word “s’mores.” Sure, they toast marshmallows over the fire…but then they just eat them. There’s no melted chocolate-y goodness or satisfying cracker crunch. Just a plain old marshmallow left stranded roadside without a delicious vehicle to your mouth.

So of course, upon realizing this, I felt the need to explain.

Me: “So you take two graham crackers…”
Any one of the many Brits I polled this week: “Two what?”
Me: “Graham crackers. You know. Graham crackers.”
Brit: “What’s a graham cracker?”

I mean, is this possible? First Ranch dressing is nowhere to be found here. Now, I find out that graham crackers don’t exist. I mean, I haven’t even wanted them, but WHAT IF I DID?! What if I’d woken up in the middle of the night with an overwhelming desire for graham crackers and I’d headed out in the cold and wet to the 24-hour Tesco just to find that no one has even heard of them? HOW WOULD I PROCEED? Plus, I’m seriously doubting that a country without graham-cracker crust is even one I want to live in.

Aside: I feel it’s important that I address the Ranch thing as well—an issue no less important than graham crackers, but one that I’ve at least has some time to accept. The weird thing about Ranch is that it’s not like everyone thinks, “Oh Ranch dressing, that’s an American thing. We don’t have it here.” It’s actually as if all evidence of Ranch dressing has been strategically and covertly eliminated from the British collective psyche.

Case in point: The Cool Ranch Doritos bag here appears to be totally normal—electric blue, close-up pic of the triangular chip…and then the words “Cool flavour.” They just photoshopped the word Ranch out as if it were never there. It’s almost eerie. It’s as if Ranch is in the Witness Protection Program for delicious flavors and isn’t allowed to leave the country. Like the evil British scientists are going to steal the recipe and clone American culture. Like maybe Ranch dressing holds the very Essence of America and if spread to foreign soil, all of the nation’s secrets will be revealed. But I digress…

It just goes to show that there are probably a great many cultural dividers still lurking beneath the rain-sodden surface of British culture. This is good news for the OckleShow. I’ve been thinking recently that maybe I need a new shtick—after all, at some point I’ll run out of commentary on Moving to London and it will, if it hasn’t already, go from ex-pat blog to just pat blog. Pat Blog. Pat the Blog. Anyone? OckleShow 2.0: Pat the Blog? No? Okay. I miss graham crackers.