It's become somewhat of a cliche in American culture and American holidays: Who is going to bring the green bean casserole? My family is no exception. The funny thing is, nobody really eats the casserole. That is, except for Grandma, but hey - she eats anything. Nonetheless, there it sits, year after year, somewhere off to the side of the counter, surrounded by the foods that are much more desired. It is the ugly duckling; the black sheep to our holiday feasts. Just like the crazy uncle that everyone talks about, or the strange cousin we all try to avoid any other time during the year, the green bean casserole is there whether we want it to be or not. And even though few of us eat it, somehow, it adds to the ambience. It gives us something to talk about. We all line up to get the food and make faces at it, daring each other to try a taste. Those that do try it become overly dramatic, faking death because of the supposed wretchedness that has graced their toungues. Of course, Grandma is standing by to tell us we didn't get a big enough bite, and how delicious it is. In a way, it brings us together. Maybe that's why we always invite the green bean casserole back. It's something we can always count on as a family to be there. It's a common ground that most of us will be able to relate to, no matter how much things have changed since we last saw each other. No matter where our lives take us, we always have the casserole. And the casserole will always have it's place. Looming, at the back of the counter, eloquently arranged on a platter. It has to be there, just as we all have to be there. It's tradition, whether we allow it to serve it's purpose as a sidedish or not. The holidays just wouldn't be the same without it.