The most patriotic stance I have is that absolutely, positively no American should be eating in a restaurant on the Fourth of July. I don’t care if you successfully recite “The Star-Spangled Banner” just as long as the lovely fragrance of charcoal replaces your go-to cologne or perfume on Independence Day.
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You might be the one double-clutching two cases of beer, a decent Fourth of July beer like Budweiser (yes, because of its red, white and blue colorway). You might be tasked with the sides: a slow cooker of baked beans, a platter of deviled eggs sprinkled liberally with paprika or a bowl of pasta salad. You might pull up to the cookout with lemonade you claim is fresh-squeezed but really came from a canister of powdered mix.
You might bring the Popsicles in those long plastic tubes that always cut the corners of your mouth. You might even bring the cheap but equally refreshing off-brand sodas with names like Dr Thunder, Mountain Lighting or just Cola or Orange. Or you might be that somebody in charge of the pies — blueberry, cherry and, of course, apple (because, what’s more American than apple pie) — or might have found your granny’s banana pudding recipe and decided to bring an aluminum pan of that.
Somebody else might come bearing an armful of family-sized bags of chips (and, hopefully, a bowl of French onion dip). Then there’s somebody who’ll bring the watermelons they almost dropped twice and claim are the “sweetest they’ve been in years.”