I step into the food hall, where I see a single vendor: Express Hibachi, which is an unusual name for a purveyor of personal pizzas and chicken Caesar salads. I skip the dining and head straight for the beverage stand. At this moment, I realize it’s all over: The only available lemonade is Minute Maid, sold by the plastic bottle. Feeling bamboozled and stupid for believing that I might find something beautiful at this garish perversion of an American tradition, I consider purchasing three $14 Cutwaters and passing out in the middle of the grass. But I already appear to be emanating a demonic energy to my fellow fairgoers, so I settle on a $5 water.

What could be more USian?