“What are these round pieces?” he asked. “It doesn’t look like the chicken we usually have”

IT was suppertime. Fishel and Faivish eyed their soup suspiciously. It didn’t look the same as usual. They didn’t know that Mrs. Friedman had lots of leftover fruit after Tu B’Shevat. She was trying to include it in every possible dish. That included soup.

“It’s a funny color,” declared Fishel. “I don’t like it.”

“It’s fruit soup,” explained Mrs. Friedman. “How do you know you don’t like if you haven’t tasted it? Why don’t you try some?”

“Er… no thanks,” replied Fishel.

“Me neither,” echoed Faivish, agreeing with his brother for a change.

They waited eagerly for the main course. They hoped it would be hotdogs and French fries, their favorite. It wasn’t.

“Here you are! Chicken and kugel,” announced Mrs. Friedman. “You know you like those.”

A hungry Fishel prepared to dive in. Then he stopped and looked closely at the chicken.

“What are these round pieces?” he asked. “It doesn’t look like the chicken we usually have.”