Foods that were certain to phase out (drinkable yogurt, anyone?), held on and became the norm. Other foods, like the personalized chicken pot pie, created to comfort a mourning nation after the tragedy of September 11, 2001, had unexpected sales up and then back down. But even the most picky eater wouldn’t be surprised if food trends like the cronut-- a cross between a croissant and a doughnut--stuck it out for the long haul. 

Born a third-generation American, I was raised with a vivid sense of pride for my country. Born in New York City, however, my perception of what this country exactly is remained far more tenuous for a long time. What did the soil feel like one thousand miles away from either coast? What scent did the trees give off resting between the Appalachians and the Rockies? Most importantly, what were other Americans like? What does that word mean, apart from the ideals and laws we all uphold and debate over? I set off from my home city with two close friends, determined to make it to the west end of South Dakota, committed to answering these questions. 

Two cities. One a thriving metropolis of Midwestern opportunity, the other a concrete nexus of humanity searching for answers. Chicago and New York City. Both bustling with young people full of hopes and dreams. Both attracting hoards of newcomers eager to drink craft beers in the “up-and-coming” neighborhoods on the outskirts of downtown. But each city boasts its own charms, and at least one reason why its born-and-bred citizens won’t call anywhere else home.