Viernes el 6
So, the grandkids come over about 4 days a week to eat lunch, right? I usually try to avoid them, because they make me feel stupid. My madre usually just feeds me before they even get here, but today I was late. Awesome. I got served by that little girl.
Me: (takes a bite of soup, then a little nibble of salad)
Ana: Why are you eating your salad and your soup at the same time?
Me: (smiles) I just eat them at the same time usually
Ana: Well, you’re supposed to eat one before the other. It’s better to eat your soup, AND THEN eat your salad.
Me: (smiles awkwardly and pushes soup to the side)
I’m waiting for the part when it gets EASIER to communicate, and I feel LESS stupid all the god damn time.
sábado, 7 de febrero de 2009
Fear Factor: Cádiz
Jueves el 5
Today, my soup had eyes.
I have encountered and eaten many things that I never would have thought of even putting near a dinner table. I tasted sea urchin. Fish egg sacks. Things that still have their heads. I never had a mental thing with food, but I’m starting to get one.
Sea urchin was the easiest. It was during a pre-carnaval festival, and everyone was drinking beer and doing it. So why not. Like I said before, tastes like sand and dead fish. Had one bite, never again.
My madre puts this thing (I can’t remember the name, but I’ll ask again) in a lot of random salads, or just by itself. It is essentially an egg sack of some fish. It looks like a veiny ball, and it is filled with tiny fish eggs. At first, I had a hunch that that was what I was eating, but I couldn’t really tell since it was cooked, and so it was white all the way through instead of that vivid, orange color. I’ve eaten this many times, and I don’t mind the texture or anything, but it tastes like shit.
AND THEN, I accidentally ate liver. I thought it was a fillet, but after chewing a couple bites, I realized what it was. That nasty mealy texture. I will eat pate, like in a spread for toast or something, but I don’t like cutting up the intact organ and eating it bite by bite.
I think the worst thing here is that a) the majority of meat is seafood (which I don’t really consider meat) and b) everything still has heads/extremities. I don’t really trust mollusks or crustaceans, or anything that has a main diet of shit and garbage (literally) and carries its house around with it for its entire life. The problem is that every meal includes either one of those two, or fish, which I don’t really mind. It’s just the fact that all the fish still have heads and eyes, and all the mariscos (shrimp or monster shrimp the size of my arm) have eyes, feelers, feet, everything. I literally have to shell them before I eat them, and pop the heads off. Today my madre made a veggie soup, which I loved, but it had whole mariscos, which I didn’t love. When I say whole, I mean each one was cut into thirds, so some pieces had the ass, some pieces had the torso with little legs, and my favorite, the ones that have the faces and eyes still on that look back at you, point their feelers at you, and say “PWEASE DON’T EAT ME MAWA!” She told me to just chew them a lot, because the shells were still on, and she forced me to try them in front of her.
I am not down with that.
Today, my soup had eyes.
I have encountered and eaten many things that I never would have thought of even putting near a dinner table. I tasted sea urchin. Fish egg sacks. Things that still have their heads. I never had a mental thing with food, but I’m starting to get one.
Sea urchin was the easiest. It was during a pre-carnaval festival, and everyone was drinking beer and doing it. So why not. Like I said before, tastes like sand and dead fish. Had one bite, never again.
My madre puts this thing (I can’t remember the name, but I’ll ask again) in a lot of random salads, or just by itself. It is essentially an egg sack of some fish. It looks like a veiny ball, and it is filled with tiny fish eggs. At first, I had a hunch that that was what I was eating, but I couldn’t really tell since it was cooked, and so it was white all the way through instead of that vivid, orange color. I’ve eaten this many times, and I don’t mind the texture or anything, but it tastes like shit.
AND THEN, I accidentally ate liver. I thought it was a fillet, but after chewing a couple bites, I realized what it was. That nasty mealy texture. I will eat pate, like in a spread for toast or something, but I don’t like cutting up the intact organ and eating it bite by bite.
I think the worst thing here is that a) the majority of meat is seafood (which I don’t really consider meat) and b) everything still has heads/extremities. I don’t really trust mollusks or crustaceans, or anything that has a main diet of shit and garbage (literally) and carries its house around with it for its entire life. The problem is that every meal includes either one of those two, or fish, which I don’t really mind. It’s just the fact that all the fish still have heads and eyes, and all the mariscos (shrimp or monster shrimp the size of my arm) have eyes, feelers, feet, everything. I literally have to shell them before I eat them, and pop the heads off. Today my madre made a veggie soup, which I loved, but it had whole mariscos, which I didn’t love. When I say whole, I mean each one was cut into thirds, so some pieces had the ass, some pieces had the torso with little legs, and my favorite, the ones that have the faces and eyes still on that look back at you, point their feelers at you, and say “PWEASE DON’T EAT ME MAWA!” She told me to just chew them a lot, because the shells were still on, and she forced me to try them in front of her.
I am not down with that.
miércoles, 4 de febrero de 2009
So un chino and una rubia walk into a bar...
Miercoles el 4
I'm going to talk about Marisa's family.
Marisa's and my mother are friends, which in Spain means that our families will automatically know everything about each others weird foreign students. That's cool I guess, since Marisa and I already broke the ice by breaking into the kitchen and getting caught.
Our friend Ben is Chinese, however, he doesn't look very Chinese. Like, if we were in Seattle, he would look not very Chinese at all. He is probably the only Chinese person currently in this city, and I am one of probably 4 real blondes. For this reason, and the fact that we're all friends, when Marisa's family asks about us, we are referred to as el chino y la rubia. And, Ben and I live in the same building, so all the people who live in our edificio need to get used to living with some "American" freaks.
Also, Marisa has been having some trouble with her madre. It's not too terrible, but from what I gather the woman is what some may refer to as... passive aggressive. It's hard to fight this in English, but imagine trying to ask "Why did you line my floor with newspaper?" in Spanish.
So. The madre. My mom is a pretty authentic Spanish cook. That means I get everything fried in olive oil, and lots of seafood. I think Marisa's madre is too, but instead of feeding her the same thing that the family get, Marisa gets tortullini. Tortullini covered in spaghettio sauce. When Marisa asks, "Madre, why did you give me something different?" madre says "Oh, well I thought you wouldn't like this!". The "this" was this really good tomato soup that my madre makes, with pan and spices. This was the first instance that lead us to the conclusion that Marisa is a puppy.
Puppies get trained, and we are all currently being trained to speak Spanish.
Marisa gets tortullini all the time. Puppies get puppy chow.
This last one is my favorite. Marisa is a very good person, and very positive, so she took it a lot better than I would have.
Marisa walks in her front door the other day after trudging through a hurricane flash flood. She gets some water on the floor, and her hermana reminds her to wipe her feet before she comes in the door. Marisa is a smart puppy, and she learns this right away. So, later that night, after we had been out for a couple drinks, Marisa returns home to find that the front door is stuck. She finally manages to shove it open and finds that it wasn't stuck, but rather blocked by a towel laid out on the ground by the door, and turns to see the entire hallway lined with newspaper. I don't care how weird they think we are, that shit is WEIRD. I could never see an American family who is hosting an exchange student from Spain doing that.
We are all like little, baby puppies. We don't know how to talk yet, even though we can understand pretty well, we must eat all of our puppy chow to please our madres, and if we piss on the floor, we'll get beaten with a rolled up newspaper.
Just kidding. Kind of.
I'm going to talk about Marisa's family.
Marisa's and my mother are friends, which in Spain means that our families will automatically know everything about each others weird foreign students. That's cool I guess, since Marisa and I already broke the ice by breaking into the kitchen and getting caught.
Our friend Ben is Chinese, however, he doesn't look very Chinese. Like, if we were in Seattle, he would look not very Chinese at all. He is probably the only Chinese person currently in this city, and I am one of probably 4 real blondes. For this reason, and the fact that we're all friends, when Marisa's family asks about us, we are referred to as el chino y la rubia. And, Ben and I live in the same building, so all the people who live in our edificio need to get used to living with some "American" freaks.
Also, Marisa has been having some trouble with her madre. It's not too terrible, but from what I gather the woman is what some may refer to as... passive aggressive. It's hard to fight this in English, but imagine trying to ask "Why did you line my floor with newspaper?" in Spanish.
So. The madre. My mom is a pretty authentic Spanish cook. That means I get everything fried in olive oil, and lots of seafood. I think Marisa's madre is too, but instead of feeding her the same thing that the family get, Marisa gets tortullini. Tortullini covered in spaghettio sauce. When Marisa asks, "Madre, why did you give me something different?" madre says "Oh, well I thought you wouldn't like this!". The "this" was this really good tomato soup that my madre makes, with pan and spices. This was the first instance that lead us to the conclusion that Marisa is a puppy.
Puppies get trained, and we are all currently being trained to speak Spanish.
Marisa gets tortullini all the time. Puppies get puppy chow.
This last one is my favorite. Marisa is a very good person, and very positive, so she took it a lot better than I would have.
Marisa walks in her front door the other day after trudging through a hurricane flash flood. She gets some water on the floor, and her hermana reminds her to wipe her feet before she comes in the door. Marisa is a smart puppy, and she learns this right away. So, later that night, after we had been out for a couple drinks, Marisa returns home to find that the front door is stuck. She finally manages to shove it open and finds that it wasn't stuck, but rather blocked by a towel laid out on the ground by the door, and turns to see the entire hallway lined with newspaper. I don't care how weird they think we are, that shit is WEIRD. I could never see an American family who is hosting an exchange student from Spain doing that.
We are all like little, baby puppies. We don't know how to talk yet, even though we can understand pretty well, we must eat all of our puppy chow to please our madres, and if we piss on the floor, we'll get beaten with a rolled up newspaper.
Just kidding. Kind of.
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