The worst was in the ruins of Warsaw, or the fields of Treblinka, or in the marshes of Belarus, or the pits of Babi Yar

The American and British soldiers who liberated the dying inmates from camps in Germany believed that they had discovered the horrors of Nazism. The images their photographers and cameramen captured of the corpses and living skeletons at Bergen-Belsen and Buchenwald seemed to convey the worst crimes of Hitler. As the Jews and Poles of Warsaw knew, and as Vasily Grossman and the Red Army soldiers knew, this was far from the truth. The worst was in the ruins of Warsaw, or the fields of Treblinka, or in the marshes of Belarus, or the pits of Babi Yar.

T. Snyder, Bloodlands (2010), 311-2

There's more on this around 382f. He is very good on uncovering our historiographical bias on this.

The only steak you could obtain in Argentina in 1492 was from a llama

One of the most interesting examples of this globalisation is 'ethnic' cuisine. In an Italian restaurant we expect to find spaghetti in tomato sauce; in Polish and Irish restaurants lots of potatoes; in an Argentinian restaurant we can choose between dozens of kinds of beefsteaks; in an Indian restaurant hot chillis are incorporated into just about everything; and the highlight at any Swiss cafe is thick ho chocolate under an alp of whipped cream. But none of those foods is native to those nations. Tomatoes, chilli peppers and cocoa are all Mexican in origin. They reached Europe and Asia only after the Spanish conquered Mexico. Julius Caesar and Dante Alighieri never twirled tomato-drenched spaghetti on their forks (even forks hadn't been invented), William Tell never tasted chocolate, and Buddha never spiced up his food with chilli. Potatoes reached Poland and Ireland no more than 400 years ago. The only steak you could obtain in Argentina in 1492 was from a llama.

Y.N. Hariri, Sapiens (2011), 188-9

It’s a problem of identity. Many of my American friends feel they don’t have enough of it.

It’s a problem of identity. Many of my American friends feel they don’t have enough of it. They often feel worthless, or they don’t know how they feel. Identity is the number-one national problem here. There seems to be a shortage of it in the land, a dearth of selfhood amidst other plenty—maybe because there are so many individual egos trying to outdo each other and enlarge themselves.

...

A culture talks most about what most bothers it: the Poles talk compulsively about the Russians and the most minute shifts of political strategy. Americans worry about who they are.

E. Hoffman, Lost in Translation (1989), 262 & 264

You’ve seen people live perfectly happily within their less than perfect unions

Wouldn’t your unhappiness be just the same as here? No, it wouldn’t. It would exist within the claustrophobia of no choice, rather than the agoraphobia of open options. It would have different dimensions, different weight. But surely an incompatible marriage is unacceptable. An American notion. A universal notion. Women in Bengal rebel against bad marriages, for God’s sake. Women in Bengal don’t rebel against emotional incompatibility. They wouldn’t understand what you mean. But I’m not in Bengal! If you were in Poland, you’d be making a sensible accommodation to your situation. You’ve seen people live perfectly happily within their less than perfect unions.

E. Hoffman, Lost in Translation (1989), 230