The teas had waited. He slid the ice into the small empty glass centered on our table. Pouring, stirring and mixing, my husband produced our thirst-quenching iced teas. The leftover ice was good-naturedly kept in the bartender's fridge. The evening melted with wondrous tastes, smells and sounds of this so foreign place, enjoyed with the comforts of our American iced tea.
Ice is as American as apple pie.
I'm an American in Europe in the summertime.