(I’d like to dedicate this blog to my daddy- my fellow chocolate milk lover and someone who probably would have done the same thing as I did. ❤️)
Yesterday, my második mámá (second mom) made my sister’s favorite meal (cabbage-wrapped meat with a tomato sauce base). Around 6:30, I thought I’d go for some of this delicious-looking grub- even though, I’m not usually a “cabbage girl”. Panna had already eaten her dinner, and my második mámá was preoccupied with cleaning the house. I scooped some of the beloved dish out of the pot on the stove, and my második mámá suggested I added tejfol (like sour cream) and bread to my plate. After I made my way to the fridge, második mámá closed the kitchen door on her way out to vacuum with a “Jó étvagyat” (“Have a good appetite”).
I tried the dish and ended up finishing my plate very quickly. I thought I’d “take it easy” with my second helping, so I scooped a little bit more on my plate and grabbed a drink to go with it. I thought chocolate milk sounded good because I hadn’t had it in awhile.
I was finishing my second serving and had about half a glass of my milk left when második mámá came in. She bent her knees a little bit, pointed her arm toward my glass, and with the utmost concern said, “What is that?! What are you drinking?!“.
I was thinking maybe she thought it looked strange because it was a darker brown than usual (There was extra chocolate at the bottom of the container when I poured the rest of it in my glass- yum!). In a calm voice I said, “Chocolate milk..?”.
She was flabbergasted. Honestly. Without words. She was stammering trying to explain herself. Finally, she said, “That is not good! *points to the glass of milk* That.. *points to the plate* and that.. Not go together!” A little confused, I said, “Why?”. She said, “milk and chocolate.. Sweet. The meal… Salty. Together… Impossible!”
Now I was just as flabbergasted as her. I asked her what I was supposed to drink. She said, “Wine or water. That’s all with that!”.
At this point, we are both laughing and smiling at each other’s confusion.
I said, “I never think of what I should drink with what I eat. I just think that I should eat something when I am hungry. If I am thirsty, I get something I like to drink.” She continued to tell me that if I would have picked anything else- Coke, Fanta, juice, etc- it would have been strange but okay. But “chocolate with milk.. Incredible!”.
We discussed how a few days ago I was mistaken by a stranger for being Hungarian because he only heard me (correctly) saying “nagyon jó” (“very good”). Apparently my eating habits give away my nationality, though. Yesterday evening, I might as well have had a sign on my forehead that says “I’m American.”
Of course, we smiled and laughed together about the cross-cultural situation. Then, I asked her if I could blog about, and she encouraged it.