I went to the EUROPEAN deli, thinking it was russian, and being assaulted by the scents of my youth, of cumin spice and a type of cloth. So it WAS a European store. Amoungst glares and hooded woman saying allah akbar, I wondered, I should have worn a hat. I didn't expect to walk into a circumstance reminding me of my adoption. And I felt awkward. Amoungst pungent smells I realized. This is NOT the same as the European deli where ignoring my allergy I bought fish and sickened myself. This was like my growing up home! I purchased a pepsi and left, a little befuddled. Why didn't they just say mid east or asian deli, I wondered, though understood. My muslim adopted parents had always specified. They had nothing like the other european store, where I go to remember my russian birth parents had-and I had to widen my perceptions. I didn't even see a deli area, but I didn't look around much, I was rather afraid that they might from the look of me, recognize me. Just the coran sitting on the shelf, I stimmed, the memories of my youth. the strange smells. the different expected behaviors. the punishments of my unique situation. cumin and spice. no fish. I wouldn't have minded knowing in advance so I could have grabbed a hat-and met expectations. I know how much that offends them, having been taught young, and wanted to save them the offense-And I respect that. My mispercetion that all european delis are one way and not varied was a new development for me.