This week, test kitchen development chef Jake told me about his childhood trips to Washington state. He and his dad spent summers fishing for salmon in the Pacific north-west and eating burgers at drive-in diners. His dad used to make Jake and his siblings french toast: fresh challah, puddles of maple syrup, piles of bacon and far too much salt. Yet what stuck with Jake most was the subtle smokiness of his late father’s cigarette-stained fingers.

We tend to absorb a more generic sense of the American food landscape from pop culture references such as Friends, the Simpsons, Bruce Springsteen and the Beach Boys: drive-in diners with slide-in booths, retro bar stools and a stream of waitresses offering free coffee refills. It’s a collage of references that creates a vicariously nostalgic image of America and American food, even for those who have never stepped foot in the place.

But the country’s food doesn’t peak with stacks of pancakes and the idea that everything’s better with bacon. The US is a mix of at least 15 different countries and a whole bunch of vibrant cooking subcultures within that.

A trip to New Orleans a few years back exposed me to a new and inventive way of eating and talking about food, and the type of cooking that makes sense only in the context of that city. Take the po’ boy sandwich. At first sight, it’s just a sandwich, but the joy of the po’ boy is in its story. In the 1920s, two former streetcar workers started a restaurant in the French Market. When their friends went on strike, they gave them free sandwiches. Every time they saw a striker approach, they’d say: “Here comes another poor boy.” The name stuck.

That’s just one example of how America’s many food traditions have fused: the baguette-like bread is a nod to the city’s French colonial past, the fried shrimp is plentiful locally and the hot sauce is thanks to African and Caribbean influences; it’s a gloriously delicious stew of culinary cultures. The cooks I met, and the food they shared with me, led me to Appalachian pickling, Nashville hot chicken and Texan barbecue (Franklin Barbecue in Austin is pictured at the top). American cooking thrives on defying convention and embracing invention, so it’s a bit like what we do at Ottolenghi.

After Jake told us about his childhood summers, Milli, head of the test kitchen, reminisced about her time in Brooklyn. Her host mentioned owning a Korean restaurant and the very next morning Milli found herself working a shift. American cooking has an openness that embraces new spins and fresh perspectives, as opposed to the rigid adherence to traditions so common in, say, Italy or France. American cuisine has a truly rebellious spirit.

I guess that’s why Americans turn to cups when they cook. It relies on intuition rather than precision, on visual cues rather than numerical exactness. Cooking with cups somehow feels more relaxed. And while European chefs continue to argue for a switch to scales (usually citing the “flour problem” – do you fluff and scoop or scoop and sweep?), there’s a sentimental strand to cups that you just can’t ignore, not least because many Americans hand down their measuring cups through the generations.

But when it comes to the food we make, cups really don’t quite cut it. It’s practically impossible to measure molasses in a cup, for example, while fresh herbs are even harder to judge. Scales keep things more straightforward: you can weigh everything into one bowl, turning the scale back to zero before you add each ingredient. They keep you sane, too, especially when my recipes call for the likes of 10g chopped chives or an eighth of a teaspoon of salt. Some call it pedantic, but we prefer to call it precise.

I’ll continue to advocate for your flavours, America – we’ve recently been experimenting with some at the test kitchen, such as shrimp and gritsand biscuits and gravy – but I’ll definitely be keeping my scales. Unless y’all can convince me otherwise.

Broc’ on | Angela Clutton’s broccoli tempura from her latest book, Seasoning, graced my table this week: it was gorgeously light and a perfect partner for the miso mayo.

Best meal out | Tiella is a rustic Italian kitchen residency at the Compton Arms in Islington, north London. Head chef/founder Dara Klein pairs semolina tagliatelle with a memorably delicious ragu.

Culinary manifesto | Black Power Kitchen, by Bronx-based culinary collective Ghetto Gastro, is a celebration of black food and culture. It inspires larger conversations about race, history and food inequality through striking imagery, diverse voices and immersive storytelling. One standout: saltfish takoyaki, which connects Japanese street food with the fish cakes of the Bahamas.

Sweet tip | A friend told me to add a slice of orange peel to my jar of brown sugar to stop it clumping together. Having to turn to rock-hard brown sugar when it’s time to bake is never fun.