M & I International
M & I International is a perfect example of how Brighton Beach’s Russian culture is preserved by these food places and vice versa. It does not act as a place of socializing. It does not try to sell or promote in anyway.
The workers seemed wary dealing with their customers, and they seemed even wearier of us as they probably realized we were not regular customers. None of them had smiles on their faces. It was crowded, but yet it was still quiet. All I really heard were customers and workers exchanging words and then eventually food and money.
We decided to get lunch here, and we ordered ourselves knishes and charco soup. We eat the knishes while waiting for the woman to heat our soup in the mini-microwave behind the counter. “It’s quiet today,” he said. Few of the tables are occupied. An old man and another man who I am assuming is his son sit together and eat their soup quietly out of plastic containers. Another woman sits by herself and eats her soup, surrounded by several grocery bags. Quite a few people are lined up to order food. Two women behind the counter scramble back
and forth getting what their customers are asking for and heating containers one at a time as the microwave could only fit so much. Not a word of English is spoken. However, the customers are patient. They stand quietly. They don’t talk to each other. The customers waiting on line patiently and quietly and the customers sitting by themselves, eating quietly, suggests how it’s not necessarily the ties the people of Brighton Beach have with one another that sustains the culture, but the relationship between these food places and their customers. This relationship is what preserves Russian culture. It’s made evident by the fact that there are no other reasons to enter the store but to buy food, as the place is not one for socializing and making friends.
M & I International is a perfect example of how Brighton Beach’s Russian culture is preserved by these food places and vice versa. It does not act as a place of socializing. It does not try to sell or promote in anyway.
The workers seemed wary dealing with their customers, and they seemed even wearier of us as they probably realized we were not regular customers. None of them had smiles on their faces. It was crowded, but yet it was still quiet. All I really heard were customers and workers exchanging words and then eventually food and money.We decided to get lunch here, and we ordered ourselves knishes and charco soup. We eat the knishes while waiting for the woman to heat our soup in the mini-microwave behind the counter. “It’s quiet today,” he said. Few of the tables are occupied. An old man and another man who I am assuming is his son sit together and eat their soup quietly out of plastic containers. Another woman sits by herself and eats her soup, surrounded by several grocery bags. Quite a few people are lined up to order food. Two women behind the counter scramble back
and forth getting what their customers are asking for and heating containers one at a time as the microwave could only fit so much. Not a word of English is spoken. However, the customers are patient. They stand quietly. They don’t talk to each other. The customers waiting on line patiently and quietly and the customers sitting by themselves, eating quietly, suggests how it’s not necessarily the ties the people of Brighton Beach have with one another that sustains the culture, but the relationship between these food places and their customers. This relationship is what preserves Russian culture. It’s made evident by the fact that there are no other reasons to enter the store but to buy food, as the place is not one for socializing and making friends.
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