Few nights back, I met a guy who had married a Latvian woman. They had lived in the States for several years, and the guy had never met his wife’s family. When they finally took a trip to the old country, they decided to stay with his wife’s parents so everyone could get to know each other.
The first day, the wife had to run some errands and left the guy with his father in law. The old man spoke no English, the young man spoke no Latvian. After watching some t.v. in awkward silence, the old man gestured to the fridge and took out a bottle. He pointed to the guy, as if to ask if he wanted a beer. And since the guy didn’t want to offend, he nodded.
The old man poured a tall glass of beer, then took out a jar of creamed herring from the fridge, stirred a dollop into the glass, and handed it to the guy.
Although it didn’t appeal to him, the guy didn’t want to offend. He choked down the beer and herring mix. After he finally finished, the old man went to the fridge, took out another beer, cracked a raw egg into it, stirred it up and gave it to the man.
Again, not wanting to offend the local custom, the young man choked down the mixture.
The old man smiled and nodded, then went back to the fridge, took out a beer and mixed in a great number of things: Pickles, Mustard, spices, etc.
The young man had reached his limit, and finally just shook his head no. The old man offered again, unsuccessfully but then shrugged, laughed, dumped out the beer in the sink and they went back to watching TV.
A while later when his wife returned, the young man relayed the story of his introduction to Latvian culture and cuisine.
“We don’t do shit like that,” His wife told him. “Dad was just fucking with you.”
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