Ich Bin Ein Amerikaner

"Jaeger bomb? What is this? I have not heard of this drink. Teach me what it is and I will make it for you." He was loud and enthusiastic and the smile on his face made him seem genuinely happy to see them in his pub. If he had lived in Berlin his whole life, which would not have surprised her, he was the right age to have been one of the youths who, effective immediately, marched chanting "WE ARE THE PEOPLE! WE ARE ONE PEOPLE!" He could have been one of the first to take hammer and pickaxe to concrete. At the very least he could have looked out his window to witness history.

She wondered how do you explain to such a man that in her country, when you do a shot of Jaegermeister and Red Bull and then shout "Jaeger Bomb!" while pointing in the air at nothing in particular, any other American (they can be a complete stranger) will high five you as though what you just did was the most awesome thing in the world?

But she told him, maybe leaving out the part about acting like a jackass, and he was excited about the new drink.

"I like it," he declared. "I will put this on the menu. But since you are Americans and you have taught me this drink, I think it needs an American name. I think it will be the Obama Bomb."