When I moved overseas as a cross-cultural worker, I discovered I suddenly craved the strangest foods from America. Things I usually wouldn’t think twice about back home, I suddenly dreamed about in Russia. I hungered for a taste of home.

In America, we rarely went to McDonald’s. I always preferred a bacon cheeseburger from Sonic with a cherry limeade on the side. However, when we moved to Moscow in l994, we often found ourselves craving McDonald’s. And it just so happened there was a McDonald’s in Moscow.

One day our family decided we needed a McDonald’s fix. We trekked across Moscow, riding on buses, subways, and trolley cars for an hour, just to satisfy our craving for a good greasy hamburger. As we stepped into the restaurant, our mouths watered in anticipation. We ordered burgers, fries, and Cokes, then carried our trays out to the patio so we could enjoy the warm sunshine.

Those burgers met all our expectations. We ate slowly, savoring every bite with big grins on our faces. Even more exciting, a few ice cubes floated at the top of our Cokes. Russians weren’t big on ice, preferring to drink liquids at room temperature, so this was a huge treat.

My husband relished his Big Mac and Coca-Cola. Holding his burger in one hand, and his Coke in the other, he alternated between eating and drinking. At one point, he brought his cup up to his mouth for a drink, forgetting about the straw. When he pulled the cup away from his mouth, the straw remained, dangling from his left nostril. There he sat, hamburger in one hand, Coke in the other, and a straw hanging out of his nose.

The kids and I exploded into laughter. My husband resembled a monkey who sticks his hand in a jar to get a piece of banana out, but can’t pull his clenched fist back out of the jar. I could read the debate going on in his mind, put down the Big Mac or put down the Coke. Finally, he chose to put down the Coke so he could remove the straw from his nose.

This experience became one of our favorite memories of life in Moscow. We had been struggling with language, a new culture, and missing home. That day we experienced a little taste of home and made a memory that still causes us to chuckle.

It amazed me how we turned to American food as our comfort while we adjusted to life in a new culture. As we continued to adapt to life in Russia, eventually some of our cravings for food from home lessened. Peanut butter and macaroni and cheese still set our heart aflutter, but now new things were taking the place of our old standbys.

Borscht, pelmeni, vareniki, oliviet salad, and plov became our new favorites. I still crave Russian sour cream – I could eat it by the spoonful.

I heard many people complain about Russian food, but our family learned to love it. Of course, there were a few dishes we didn’t care for, such as “holodets,” a cold meat jelly. The first time I encountered holodets I thought it was jello and took a big bite. I quickly realized my mistake as the cold fat slithered slowly down my throat.

It took some effort to bring my kids around to appreciating Russian food. When we were visitors at someone’s home, my standing rule was that you would eat whatever you were served. At least a few bites. Fortunately, every Russian meal included copious amounts of bread, and my children learned that with a hunk of bread, they could swallow anything.

Eventually, my kids learned to appreciate Russian food. Especially bread. When we would return for a visit to America, they would beg us not to make them eat sliced white bread. They wanted the expensive artisan bread with lots of heft and crust. My children also hated “plastic cheese” slices. They insisted on “real” cheese like we ate in Russia.

Learning to live in a new culture is not easy, and it doesn’t happen overnight. It is a process. But I knew we were adjusting when suddenly we didn’t need as many “goody packages” sent from America.

When we returned to America for furlough, I loved it when my kids walked in the door and smelled borscht simmering on the stove. They would sniff, then remark, “It smells like home.”

I knew we had achieved our goal of helping our children appreciate and love a new culture. Who knew God would start the process through our stomachs!

Of course, there was one unexpected result of our time in Russia.

My husband still has a lingering fear of straws.