For years I’d been the despair of my mother because as a left-hander I politely but resolutely declined to eat the American way—grasping the fork in your left hand to steady the food while cutting, then transferring it to your right hand to lift the food to your mouth. It seemed ridiculously cumbersome, and here suddenly was a whole country that ate the way I did.
I also eat left-handed and never adopted the American method of dining, even though I am an American. My dad said I would have made a good spy.
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