Metaphor
America was a hamburger.
An American one, of course. No other country had the sheer amount of ingredients, or the size, to really compare.
He was the meat. He was the substance of the food. He was the reason people bought the hamburger and he was the part people enjoyed the most, even if they believed they needed everything else to make him so. They had the choice and he did not mind, as long as the meat patty was consumed.
The cheese, pickles, tomatoes, lettuce, and onions; Dill, Gherkin, Polish, Lime; Provolone, Cheddar, Liederkranz, Velveeta; Cherry, Black Krim, Purple Haze, Juliet; Butterhead, Looseleaf, Romaine, Batavian; Welsh, Leek, Bulb, Tree... Those were his people. The so many varieties that would meet each other every day, the ever changing constant of the American population.
Then there were the condiments. Ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, relish... Those were his lands. The seasoning, the differences and yet, they were all his. That was what made them similar. They all were free and people chose to stay with what they had or to move to another mixture.
Covered in the uniform bread (of whatever type one wanted) which kept all of these nuances under the same roof. Those were his freedoms, that Constitution, those Amendments...
Japan found after this depth of thought he was hungry.
So he went and ate a hamburger.
"You are a hamburger," Japan told him one day.
America laughed. Japan figured he didn't get it.