Independence Day

A Time to Grill.

Happy Fourth of July!

The Fourth is a uniquely American holiday, as we see when we examine this July calendar from a typical foreign country:

Why do Americans make such a big deal out of July Fourth? We do it to commemorate the date when our Founding Fathers — men such as John Adams, Samuel Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Grizzly Adams and Lin-Manuel Miranda — signed the Declaration of Independence, which declared that Americans were no longer ruled by Great Britain, and thus were finally free, in the immortal words penned by Thomas Jefferson:

To spell "color" and "humor" without that stupid "u"; to put ice cubes in soft drinks; to pronounce all the syllables in "Worcestershire"; and to legalize dentistry.

Those may not be the exact words. There's no way to tell for sure, because Jefferson penned the Declaration of Independence in "cursive," which is a kind of handwriting that nobody can read, which is why it has been eliminated from the American educational curriculum along with history, spelling, grammar, science and mathematics. Also for some reason — possibly national security — Jefferson wrote the Declaration in disappearing ink on what appears to be a used paper towel. This is how it looks today:

So except for the part that says IN CONGRESS, we have no earthly idea what's actually in the Declaration of Independence. For all we know it says our national anthem is "Louie Louie."

But never mind what it says. The point is, we declared our independence, and on July Fourth we celebrate that historic event in the same way our Founding Fathers did all those years ago: By eating food prepared under unsanitary conditions. I'm talking about a traditional July Fourth barbecue, the kind where Dad attempts to fire up the grill, which takes way longer than expected because the only thing the grill has been used for since the previous July Fourth is as a habitat for spiders. As a result, Mom's potato salad sits out in the sun until it has reached the same internal temperature as a newborn puppy.

FACT: Every year, more Americans are killed by mayonnaise than by sharks.

The traditional menu for a July Fourth barbecue is hamburgers and hot dogs, which are served with ketchup and mustard, which are condiments that, unlike mayonnaise, do not have to be refrigerated. I will repeat that in a bolder font for emphasis:

Ketchup and mustard do not have to be refrigerated.

Many people mistakenly think they have to keep ketchup and mustard in the refrigerator, yet these same people happily dine at restaurants where the ketchup and mustard have been sitting out on the tables, at room temperature, since the Clinton administration. Why is this? Because people are stupid. We may never know the answer.

If you don't want to serve meat at your July Fourth barbecue, you can try serving a meatless substitute such as the "Impossible Burger," which is a revolutionary miracle product made from soy protein, coconut oil, sunflower oil, methylcellulose, a genetically modified yeast called "heme" and other ingredients, which are scientifically processed in such a way as to produce a patty that, when grilled like a regular hamburger and served on a bun, tastes vaguely wrong.

I know this because my family and I have been served Impossible Burgers several times by a person who, out of respect for his privacy, I will refer to here only as "my brother-in-law, Steve Kaufman." Steve's m.o. at a barbecue — he does this every time — is to serve us the burgers without telling us that they're Impossible Burgers. We can immediately tell that they are, but out of politeness we say nothing. When we're done eating, Steve, with a sly look, says: "By the way, those were Impossible Burgers." And we go: "Huh!" Because it would be rude to say: "So that's why they tasted vaguely wrong!"

I just hope Steve isn't reading this Substack.

But a traditional July Fourth picnic is not just about eating: It's also about having mandatory fun in the form of classic picnic games. For example, there's the "egg toss," in which you give youngsters some eggs, and they throw them at each other as hard as they can. At least that's how we did it when I was young. I was competing against youngsters who could hit you square in the forehead with an egg tossed at 104 m.p.h. I hated the egg toss.

Another fun classic picnic game is the "sack race." To play this, you need burlap bags, which you can (of course) buy from Amazon. Note that the Amazon page carries this fun advisory:

If you’re not familiar with burlap, it does have a unique smell. Don’t worry -- if it bothers you, leave the burlap bag outside for 48 hours to allow the bag to air out.

Imagine the squeals of delight from the youngsters at your picnic when you drag them out of the air-conditioned house and make them put down their iPhones, crawl into these stanky bags and try to hop across the lawn. "These bags are disgusting!" they will squeal delightedly. Also, because these are modern youngsters, at least one of them will have a severe burlap allergy requiring a trip to the ER.

So maybe just skip the classic picnic games.

The highlight of every Fourth of July picnic comes when the sun goes down, and the menfolk pass out from drinking beer all day.

No, unfortunately that does not happen, although the world would be safer if it did. What happens is the menfolk (it's always the menfolk) set off fireworks. This is a fundamental American right that is enshrined in the Bill of Rights, which states:

A well regulated Militia being for some reason at the beginning of this sentence, the right of the people to set off fireworks without any training whatsoever shall not be infringed, except indoors you idiots.

At least we think that's what it states. The Bill of Rights is also written in "cursive," so nobody knows for sure. Some constitutional scholars believe it might actually be a step-by-step recipe for squirrel fritters.

In any event, here in Miami, where I live, we take our right to keep and bear fireworks seriously. If you walk into my local Publix supermarket today, the first merchandise you'll see on display, even before the machine guns, is this:

(I'm kidding about the machine guns, of course. You can't buy machine guns in Miami supermarkets. That's why we have drugstores.)

Down here people start setting off fireworks — I'm talking about major fireworks, which would not be out of place landing on an Iranian nuclear-enrichment facility — several days before July Fourth, and they keep setting them off until roughly Halloween. And with each detonation, we are reminded of the true meaning of the Fourth of July, as expressed in the immortal lyrics written, in "cursive," by Francis Scott Key:

O say can you see?

Louie Louie

Me gotta go.

Speaking of which, me gotta go celebrate Independence Day, so I'm going to turn this Substack over to you extremely independent paying subscribers.