Cardinal

 

When we lived in England, our entire back garden was bordered with a luxurious hedge of English laurel. It was an evergreen with broad, dark green leaves that smelled faintly of almonds. In the spring, it sprouted sweet-smelling white blossoms, and in the autumn, there were black berries the birds just adored. I told a neighbor how much I loved my English laurel, and she looked genuinely confused for a moment or two. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “You mean cherry laurel!” Then it was my turn to be confused. I should have realized the name English laurel would only make sense if you weren’t in England. The whole world calls the game with helmets, shoulder pads and a prolate spheroid “American football.” The whole world, that is, except us. And no one in France would order French fries. They’d ask for pommes frites, which means “fried potatoes.” Okay, technically it means “fried apples,” but that’s another story.