Ha ha, in the last week, two people have asked me if I am Native American.
I’m Italian.
Wait, I just saw the okra slander above, and I must ask for **“equal time for an opposing viewpoint.” ** (old broadcast TV reference …now get off my lawn!)
Okra is sublime! Okra is the fabled Food Of The Gods!
Gumbo!! Gumbo is … words fail. Gumbo!
Fried okra in cornmeal!
Oddly enough, I don’t find it slimy at all. I like it raw too; and even then it’s not slimy.
It probably would make really good lube though … I’m just sayin’.
I live in a part of Canada with a huge Aboriginal population and not very many immigrants. My friend and her family are Nicaraguan and often get mistaken as native, which drives me nuts because her features are definitely more Spanish than native.
My last name is also one of the most common, so we may share a last name. My father, whose ancestry was most likely Welsh and Scottish, had black hair and fair skin. But since he spent most of his life in a small town in Ohio where the ethnic diversity is almost nil, I don’t believe he was ever mistaken for Hispanic.
But I also know about the assumptions about the last name. Many years ago while I was working in Washington, DC, my office called an agency to request a temp. When they called back to give me the name of the person they were sending, the last name was the same as mine. After she and I had worked together long enough to feel comfortable, we each confessed that we had halfway expected the other to be black.
If your friend is a stupid bitch who eats okra, it would really tie the whole thread together.
So was the Native American who shed a tear in that commercial about pollution all those years ago.
Also, okra is slimy. I will only eat it fried or in gumbo.
I don’t think I’ll be trying okra, I hate slimy food. Even bananas are too slimy for me in their natural state (banana bread is good and only slightly gross).
But it is a shame your parents didn’t make sure you grew up fluent. Everyone should grow up fluent in English, Spanish, Arabic, and either Cantonese or Mandarin, as a minimum. Plus a local language, if it differs, or a family heritage language. Hindi probably is going to be on that list soon, too. 
As shown in the pictures, whole okra are green, star-shaped cross section, with a point at one end, and fuzzy. They are just bizarre.
When sliced, they expose the green shell, white orbs inside, and a gooey slime. They are truly bizarre.
When cooked by boiling, the sliminess prevails.
When cooked by deep-frying in batter, they are less slimy, but still weird as hell. The orbs are an odd mouth texture and stand out different from the shell. I once proposed that you could deep fry shit and it would taste good, but okra disproves that.
shudder
And don’t even get me started about eggplant!
Ranch people. Or horseradish sauce. Dip the breaded fried okra in that and it is heavenly. Any other way, even fried without the dip, is gross. I grew up on okra and was tortured with it being cooked many different ways.
Well, to be as fair as possible, I suppose you should try it just once, so you will know for yourself the okra-eating experience whereof we speak. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the next brujaja who finds it to be food for the gods. But I wouldn’t bet the okra farm on it. And those sure aren’t any gods that I would worship!
Well, yeah. Like I said. Fried okra!! Gumbo!! 
Aw, crap. Another food misconception I must contribute my opinion to:
Night before last, I mede a fresh batch of Ras el-Hanout. (Moroccan spice blend.)
Then, I made a stew with chicken and eggplant over basmati rice. I had a little extra, so I was going to bring some to a hungry bachelor friend, but he didn’t answer the phone, so I ate it all up! Eggplant rocks! I looooove vegetables!!
Except parsnips. Parsnips are a non-lethal form of hemlock. Probably. Might be lethal.
**
P.S. : Blackberry: If you are ever in Northern California, you are invited to my house for gumbo. I bet you like it!**
Actually, overripe banana is probably a good description of the texture of okra. I think it’s at least worth trying fried, and possibly in gumbo, where the slimy nature of it dissolves into the stew and becomes one with it, more or less.
I was about to say that I’ve never had gumbo and I’m not entirely sure what it even is. So, okay, if I find myself two states down, I will hold you to that!
My town has a large Mexican population. A few years ago I worked for a dark-skinned, black-haired guy with the last name “Dominguez”, and was surprised when I found out he was Lebanese, not Mexican.
I am a blonde-haired blue-eyed male of German and Danish ancestry. Many years ago, on a tour of Europe, I was shy about being seen as a tourist, so if I needed to look at a map, I would step off the street into an alcove or alley so as not to disrupt the general flow of pedestrians.
Many times when I did this, people would walk up to me and ask for directions.
I was asked for directions, in French while in Paris. In Florence, I was asked for directions in Italian. In Rome, I was asked for directions in Italian. In Basil, I was asked for directions in an unknown language.
When I got to Germany, I half expected to be inundated with requests for directions, but was never asked once.
I have always been curious about this.
Probably Plantish.
The Swiss town is Basel.
I should know better than to post without looking place names up. It was a 50-50
chance…:o
Why 50-50? There are several spellings that are correct in one language or another. In English, you can correctly spell it as “Basle.”