You know those little fruit-filled round morning disks called "Danish pastry" that are usually found on insipid continental breakfast buffets in this country? And you know how we eat them because of either: 1) casual passivity, 2) they’re there, 3) you’re half asleep, or 4) otherwise you’d starve? Until about 6 years ago I thought these ubiquitous pastries were one of life’s little tricks because they look and sound good—which elicits hopes of deliciousness—yet each time I bite into one I’m reminded how awful they are. Here’s the thing: what we call Danish are Americanized Danish, in the same way that Panda Express is Chinese food.
