Bean Town

I never know what to say when people ask me if I love living in Boston. There are things I love about it, sure, and other things I despise about it. But it will always have a special place in my heart. The only salient metaphor that I can find is (probably no surprise to many of you) cooking. If I were, for instance, to write a recipe for the city of Boston, it would go something like this:

Boston 

Take One established coastal landscape with a relatively extreme climate.*

Add rugged indigenous peoples. Let sit one thousand years.

Incorporate a good number of self-righteous British Puritans. Stir until sour. Add cranberries, turkeys, fur, and maple syrup. Remove any visible witches.

Let a thick crust of patriotism develop over all.

Set over heat and allow to boil until revolutionary influences begin to thicken. Take off heat. Strain out any British influences with a tea strainer.**

Freeze.

In a separate bowl, place several major educational institutions and allow to rise.

Slowly pour educational mixture into frozen Puritan mixture, and whip until it holds a sense of cultural superiority. Sprinkle with sea salt.

Fold in abolitionist tendencies.

Freeze again. 

Add several waves of immigrants. Mix after each addition.

Let mixture ferment in a hot and humid location until you notice that the patriotic strains have lain dormant for long enough to transform into a fanatic sports obsession at least strong enough to support 4 professional sports franchises. Layer with ridiculous product endorsements. Add two tablespoons Dunkin' Donuts coffee.

Simmer with river water for several decades. Slowly pour in 1.5 million aggressive drivers. Make sure not to add any street signs.

Sprinkle with 180,000 college students.

Serve frozen.




*To make completely from scratch, use the "Planet" recipe on page 96,000,000. 
** Use one if by land, two by sea.