Want to Trade for a Cow Tongue Sandwich?

“Want to trade a Twinkie for a cow tongue sandwich?” was not a very good conversation starter with my American classmates. Many kids consider lunch their favorite “subject”, but it was never easy for me growing up.

The first time I walked into the cafeteria in 1^st grade, I froze. My eyes opened wide and a smile immediately sprung across my face—it felt as if had I stepped into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. This place seems like heaven, just look at all the American food in sight! I thought. There were rows and rows of students trading string cheese for Hot Pockets or Twizlers for Laffy Taffys. At lunch time, everyone would rummage through each-others lunches in hopes of trading something in their lunch for something better in someone else’s. To my dismay, I was not one of the lucky six-year-olds, who had a prized possession in their brown bagged lunch.

I never had a fruit roll-up, peanut butter and jelly, Lunchables, or Ritz Crackers, and a Reese's peanut butter cup for dessert. I was lucky enough to have a Black bread with “Doktarskaya Kielbasa” (Russian salami) sandwich; which looks like bologna with air pockets and smells 'interesting' as many of my classmates would say. I also had Russian ground turkey and chicken meatballs, which smell strongly of garlic and onions, and “sirniki”, a chocolate-covered cheese cake with raisins, for dessert. If I was really lucky, my mom would pack me “kholodets”, meat and vegetable jello—yum! I thought this was completely normal and would always think about which food I could get if I traded in my personal favorite chocolate covered cheese or cow tongue. This was the food that I grew up with and loved to eat for breakfast, lunch and dessert. However, when no one wanted to trade anything with me I was bewildered because I thought what I was eating was normal, but my classmates acted like I was and alien from outer space.

I was the first generation born in America in my family. My mom was a refugee from the Soviet Union and immigrated to America in 1987. My dad came soon after in 1990 right before the Soviet Union deteriorated. As a child, I spoke mainly Russian at home, with the exception of speaking English with my sister. I treasure my Russian heritage because of my connection to the Russian traditions—food and culture and because it makes me unique.

            At first I was embarrassed whenever lunch came around, but eventually I grew to appreciate my family and value them for all that they have done for me, in coming to America in search of a better life. As time went by, my classmates would plead and bother me to give them one of my Russian chocolates or a taste of my “kholodets” meat jello, because it was unique, tasty, and something they had never tried before. Through my diverse lunches, I brought cultural diversity to my peers and classmates around me. Instead of begging my mom to buy me a normal Hershey chocolate bar to pack in my lunch, I would beg her to pack me a few extra Russian “Ptichye Mleko”—Chocolate covered Russian Marshmallows. To this day, every time I eat a Russian food, I proudly realize how far I have come from the time when six-year-old me was embarrassed about having peculiar treats in my bagged lunch and tried to hide my lunch from everyone.