At a very young age I became best friends with my neighbor who lived 2 doors down from me. She was born right around Chicago, but her parents and grandma were from Russia. In the summers, I was at my friends house a lot. I usually ate either lunch or dinner at her house and got fed pretty well. On occasion, her grandma would make this carrot juice which I hated. Her grandma insisted that it was good for her granddaughters health and always made her drink it. Whenever I was there, I tried to slip into the bathroom when it was being served. I hated it, along with the orange mustache that came along with it. The thing was, I felt really close to my neighbors and treated them like family. I felt bad that I didn't like the carrot juice and also felt like the family disliked me at times when I didn't eat their food. Out of respect, I would sometimes take a few sips of the drink, but it still tasted gross for my 6 year old picky-ness. In addition, I don't like caviar and dreaded when it would be served by my friends mother on a slice of bread. I really felt like my friend Michelle's mother would get mad at me even when I politely said, "no thanks" to an offering from her. Since the 90s, I've managed to eat numerous meals with my neighbors. They have accepted that I don't like some of their traditional food and usually even make something on the side for me. It's interesting how food shapes who we are and how we are accepted into different cultures and groups of people.
I found that picture through Google's search engine at http://www.photographersdirect.com/buyers/stockphoto.asp?imageid=622482
-Britt
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