Trump Declares Danish Pastries to Be Renamed American Pastries Washington, D.C. (AI) – In a bold move that has sparked debate across the nation, President Donald Trump announced on Saturday that Danish pastries will henceforth be referred to as American pastries. This controversial declaration comes with strict penalties for vendors who continue to market the beloved treats under their original name, including hefty fines and potential prison terms. The president's decision is rooted in a long-standing sentiment he expressed regarding American identity and ownership. "There is no reason to call the pastries Danish anymore, especially since Denmark is not being flexible in America taking over its territory of Greenland," Trump stated. His comments echoed a historical precedent set years ago when French fries were renamed "freedom fries" in a display of patriotism. The announcement has drawn mixed reactions from the public and culinary experts alike. While some Americans support the idea as a way to assert national pride, others have criticized it as an unnecessary and frivolous alteration of culture. Renowned chef and pastry expert Maria Lopez expressed her concerns: "Danish pastries have a rich history and cultural significance. Renaming them does not change their origin or the artistry behind them." Local vendors are scrambling to adjust their signage and menus in light of the new regulations. Some have embraced the change, while others view it as governmental overreach into the food industry. "I just want to serve my customers the best pastries possible. Renaming them feels silly," said Tom Richards, owner of a popular bakery in downtown Chicago. As the nation grapples with this new directive, it remains to be seen how enforcement will play out. The administration has not yet provided details on how fines will be levied or how vendors will be monitored.

Starsky and Hutch

Danilo Garcia (left) and Andrew Selsky

When I was working in Nicaragua as an AP local hire, the news agency provided me in 1986 with an ancient American car, whose make and model I have long forgotten. Photographer Danilo Garcia and I used to drive around Managua in it while covering stories, and we jokingly thought of ourselves as Starsky and Hutch. 

One day, while rushing to the airport to catch the arrival of former US Attorney General Griffin Bell, who wanted to represent Eugene Hasenfus, a Sandinista military transport truck sideswiped us. The truck, a Soviet model called an IFA -- the initials standing for Imposible Frenar Atiempo – or Impossible to Brake In Time -- didn’t bother stopping, and we continued to the airport. So the car had its battle scars. Hasenfus had been captured by Sandinista soldiers after they shot down the plane he was in that was delivering weapons to Contra rebels. Bell didn't get to represent him, but after Hasenfus was sentenced to 30 years in prison, President Daniel Ortega pardoned him.

The four-door rattletrap gave up the ghost one day in the middle of nowhere when I was driving back to Managua with my girlfriend (now wife) Zoe from the beach. People (not sure where they came from, because this was a road running through flat green countryside) began appearing, and congregated by the engine of the car that refused to start. They offered different opinions of what the problem was. Then the arguments got heated. One man shouted at another man who had a strong opinion about what was wrong: “You Sandinistas always know everything, don’t you?!” 

Before it came to blows, a Sandinista militiaman who had also magically appeared on the scene fired his AK-47 into the air and told everyone to cool it. Zoe and I managed to get to Managua somehow. 

The car was later towed by oxen into Managua and determined to be DOA.