Bizzaro Land Christmas. And I Roasted a Chicken!

Christmas Land in Murcia. Polar Bears I get. The Panda Bear...not so much. There was also a clown among other randomness..

So this is a Christmas post in February, and the longer I live in Spain the more it becomes evident that this country is basically bizzaro USA. To be clear, this is not actually my homesickness talking right now--though I would like to point out that homesickness is a very real and insidious condition that seeps into your bones and spreads through your entire existence like a cold, cancerous tumor which poisons your spirit and shrouds you and everything around you with an inky blackness on even the sunniest of days. [In case you didn't know this, I'm a bit of a drama queen. Sue me.] But back to bizzaroland España--a first world country with third world tendencies--a land where the local government thinks it's perfectly acceptable to not pay me for three months at a time, banks and government offices are operational just 5-6 hours (if you're lucky) a day, supermarkets are closed on Sundays, teenagers dry-hump each other against the walls of the convent that's just 4 steps from my front door, and the Christmas holiday season is a mere fraction in size, commercialization, and obnoxiousness that we've all come to know and love/loathe stateside.

{Source}

Lost in Translation::Pollo al Horno con Puerros de Mantequilla

After four months of living in Spain, you would think that by now, I would have fully adjusted and settled into my new life here. But the reality of the situation is that it's taken me just that long to feel as if I've found some semblance of balance and/or normalcy. And keep in mind the operative term of "semblance" because both my definitions of normal and balance seem be in a constant state of change. In any event, for many reasons, including this period of adjustment, I've been remiss if not purposely avoidant of updating this blog. 

As you can imagine, there are lots of things that get lost in translation when one packs up their entire life and moves to a new country, and transitioning a domestic food blog to describe an international life is one of them. I have struggled here, not only with the language and from time to time, the distance from home, but the question of how to express myself in that full-on Bernadette way--complete with inappropriate levels of profanity, butter, and bourbon, whilst sharing the good, the bad, and the absurdity of my life in Spain. 

January 13. on the beach!

An American Macaroni & Cheese in Spain

What happens when, while living abroad, you make one of the most American foods ever, which happens to be the most important side dish of the dinner of the second most American holiday in existence¹, for a quantity of no less than 30 people from six different countries, in a house in the mountains, where eating, boozing [repeat and repeat], laughing, hiking, and fighting the dog for stolen turkey bones from the garbage commence for approximately a weekend? You get zero pictures of the finished product in all it's magnificent glory, and are forced to steal any photographic evidence of its cooked existence from other people's facebook albums. And contrary to what you may initially have thought, your Thanksgiving in Spain is pleasingly similar to Thanksgiving at home, with the hilarious exception of the entire "family" getting plastered and the addition of a resplendent mountain backdrop and a pool. Basically, my Thanksgiving in Spain was amahzing, but more importantly my Spanish rendition of Linda's [mommy] famous macaroni and cheese was a success!

For starters, I must talk about the Españification of this American classic, because while the Spaniards are quite fond of cheese, they are not quite so fond of variety or importing good American cheddar. And though my Spanish is still not where I want it to be three months into this adventure, I was still able to clearly communicate with the guy at the carnicería that a gub'ment cheese-looking block of mild cheddar was not hell what I was looking for.

A Place of Yes

Alicante

If you speak even the smallest smattering of Spanish,  I assume that you might find the title of this long overdue blog entry a bit contratictory to the blog's new namesake Sin Mayonesa, Por Favor. But I assure, it's not.

Elche

Allow me to explain. When I departed from the states on the 11th of September, I was carrying with me a bag of farewell cards from my friends, that I didn't  have the stones [nor the time, or emotional capital] to read previously. But during the drive to JFK international, following my heroing defeat of all things Murphy's law on that fateful day, I finally decided it was time to put my big girl panties on, and read what my friends had to say. Naturally, all the cards made me cry.  But one card hit a chord. One of my dear friends encouraged me to find my place of yes.

Murcia

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

So after much preparation, and absurd last minute drama, I finally embarked on my journey to Spain. In the year preceding my decision to move abroad [2011] and the last weeks leading up to my move, however, I felt incredibly lost. In both these instances it felt as my life was in endless turmoil. With respect to year preceding this decision, I felt that every decision I ever made was wrong, and despite my best laid plans, the world insisted on stomping them into oblivion. In the weeks leading up to the move, the significance of my departure started to weigh on me like a ton of bricks and there were three tearful breakdowns. The first at my going away party, the second and most physically significant being fueled by a massive amount of vodka, courtesy of table service at my favorite strip club, and the last was brought on by a series of unfortunate events, including, but not limited to Kona being incredibly sick the day of our departure. As I sat in the vet's office that morning, giving them my tearful permission to run whatever tests were necessary, it was in that moment I was convinced that packing up my life and moving to a new country was the WORST IDEA EVER.

Even after leaving the vets office $200 poorer, with a bag full o' medicine and poodle on the mend in tow, I wasn't so sure that the energy that I was expending to speed to my mom's house in New Jersey where I was supposed to have been the night before, was worth it at that point. What was supposed to be the most exciting experience of my life, had morphed into the nightmare that wouldn't end, that kept getting more expensive, and invited everyone in the WORLD to tell me I was going to meet  a Spanish man, fall in love and get pregnant. On the day of my departure, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and stay there forever. But instead, I pressed on.

Top Ten Things I'll Miss About Home

So the time is coming. In just 19 days I'm boarding a plane with my poodle, my passport, way too many shoes and boots that I'll surely be paying for extra for and my older sister (she's accompanying me for the first two weeks) and MOVING to Spain. [And yes, if you just did the math, that means I fly on September 11th...from JFK ...a bittersweet day it will be indeed]

Holy. Shit!

Needless to say I'm way effing excited and a little bit terrified, but I'm also slightly depressed. This past Saturday I had the most amazing going away Churrasco (post to come) and a ton of my family and friends came, and amongst the eating, laughing, boozing and reminiscing, there were more than a few tears that I just could not hold back. The fact is, I'm packing up my stuff and my dog and leaving behind the life that I've known for more than 25 but less than 30 years [don't y'all love how I never confirm my actual age even though 90% of you actually know what it is. I like to keep the mystery, lol]. So it goes without saying that there are people and things I'm going to miss about home. But it wouldn't be any fun if I didn't actually say who and what I'll miss, so here we go...

Chickpea, Butternut Squash, & Sausage Saute (City Girl Stew)

So I'm sure you're thinking that a post about stew in the middle of summer seems strange. Especially when the above pictured "stew" resembles nothing of what it's namesake traditionally suggests. But you know, this is city girl food, so I can call it stew if I want to. Besides, I assure you the strangest thing about this recipe is that I willingly and purposefully cooked with and ate butternut squash. Which as a notoriously picky eater and self proclaimed hater of all things squash, is a pretty big deal.

But when I get an idea in my head and am craving something different, crazy things happen. Honestly, I've been curious about butternut squash for a while. Restaurants seem to love putting it in ravioli with yummy sounding sauces like browned butter with crispy sage leaves, and on more than one occasion I've felt like I might be missing out because of my wanton disdain for an entire vegetable family. I mean, we all know that zucchini and summer squash are utterly disgusting and not to be eaten unless absolutely necessary. But butternut is clearly different with it's firm texture and gorgeous orange hue. I figured it was time I start acting like a foodie, and at least give it a try.