Recently, my mother signed up for one of those DNA-based ancestry kits that are all the rage right now. You swab your mouth and send in the sample and the company tells you where in the world you’re from and, in some cases, lets you know about relatives you didn’t know existed.
Mom’s results weren’t that much of a shock. With surnames of Jones, Richards, and, of course, Draper, naturally we’re mostly English and Welsh, with plenty of Scots-Irish mixed in. There was also the requisite one percent from the Nordic countries, the likely result of marauding Vikings pillaging the English countryside. No long-lost family members living right next door. That is to say, we couldn’t be more white and more boring.
What surprised me a bit, considering my gastronomic…
