Londontown

Attention all UK residents: if there is a fish and chips shortage, it is because The Mister and I ate up the whole national supply. Over and out.

We had a great time in London this past weekend visiting my friend Kristin.

Do you like how I have about fifteen pictures of Big Ben in there? I realized it after I already put the pictures in the post, and now I'm too lazy to remove them.  So we're not really going with the "less is more" concept today here on Love & Paella.

Speaking of "more is more", let's talk about Chipotle.  Because there was a Chipotle in London. And we ate there. And then we passed out from bliss. Can you see how the Chipotle is making me look deranged in that picture? I was really overexcited.

We went biking all around Hyde Park. We went to Shakespeare's Globe theater/theatre (pick your spelling depending upon your nationality, please). Went to Buckingham palace and said cheerio to the Queen. And then we ate more fish and chips.

Country kids for a day

Yesterday we spent the day with our friends Beatriz and Salvador at Beatriz' country house.  It's not unusual here in Spain for city folk to have a separate country house, usually one that's inherited from not-too-distant country mouse ancestors.  Spaniards often use these houses like vacation homes, going to them on weekends and during summers. Beatriz' place isn't too far from Málaga, and it's pretty much a working farm - her dad tends the land full time, and there are sheep, chickens, and hunting dogs, as well as vineyards, vegetable gardens, and small fruit orchards.  It's quiet out there, and the views are stunning in every direction.

Of course, we did what we could to shatter the quiet, because that's what young people are for!

First, we played some basketball. Salva showed off his dunking skills.

Then we took a dip in the pool.

Then we took a walk down a little trail and had ourselves some country kid snacks - here we're eating plums right off the tree.

And we plucked some not-too-ripe almonds and broke the shells open with rocks:

And we ate out of a big bucket o freshly picked pears.

We took the country dog along for company.

Then we fed the chickens and collected eggs from the quail.  When I took this picture, they were still hot in my hand, and I prefer not to think about the mechanics behind that.

Every country outing needs a banjo, so we produced the next closest thing: Spanish guitars. I know I say that The Mister is a rock star, but my friend Salva is a real, actual rock star.  His band signed a few months ago with Universal Records, and his first single debuted on the radio last week.  So he and The Mister had quite the jam session.

And then we went to bed and slept the sleep of the righteous, or whatever they call it. 

I blame it on all the fresh air and sunshine.

Rosa's stamp of approval

This is Rosa.  Rosa is one of my favorite Spaniards.  She and her husband Mauricio are good friends of The Mister and I, and since they lived in San Diego for a bit (we've even compared notes on the same restaurants, half a world away) they have a rather unique cultural perspective.  We hang out all four of us, and the conversation flows in English and Spanish, often all in the same sentence, which gets really fun when someone says something really ridiculous, like "el wino," a mixture of the word wine and its Spanish counterpart vino. El wino.  Oops. It has a ring, no?

Rosa offers independent verification of my Stuff Americans/Europeans Like lists: she agrees that salad dressing is, like, weirdly popular in the US and that one of the things she couldn't get over about living in the US was how everything just worked (i.e. item #10 efficiency) - if you had to call the plumber, the plumber came right away, and if you needed something, you just went and bought it.  

Rosa is also European in the following ways: she freely admits to eating the whole animal, she likes tuna, and she is one of those people that's just hopelessly cool - I include this picture as proof.  She is sautéeing mushrooms, people, and she still looks chic - she can't help it. 

Europeans always manage to look pretty cool.

It's a cultural trait.

Thanksgiving, Spanish-style

Foggy windows and wet hair for the big storm. 

Yes, siree, I had some Thanksgiving turkey this year.

We had to brave quasi-hurricane conditions, and got soaking wet in the process, but it was totally worth it.

As I mentioned, my friend Claire volunteered to host a big dinner - she roasted a turkey and even made green bean casserole from scratch. This being Spain, I must confess that there was also a fair amount of sangria in the house. We were about half and half Americans and Spaniards, and most spoke a good amount of both languages, so the conversation twisted and rolled in Spanish and English, sometimes even in the same sentence.

After the last piece of stuffing had been eaten, we broke out the cards and played a few boisterous rounds, learning the names in Spanish for suits of a card deck in the process. So, you see, it was educational too.

Here are a few pictures. There would be more if I didn't have such camera-shy friends (all who attended except Nandi, I'm looking at you).

"Hola, dahhling, can you believe there will also be macaroni and cheese?!"

Our hostess Claire, doing last minute checks.  

Why is stuffing called "stuffing" when it should be called "sweet manna of the gods"?

COME TO MAMA.

"Did you just see Sarah KISS her stuffing?!"

Why you should really have a foodie friend

Here's my life advice for today: if you don't have a foodie friend in your life, you should get one. Stat.

My friend Kelley lives in Africa, and she and her family are back stateside for a few months, so we had a little reunion dinner at her house last week. We hadn't seen them in months, and yet, all I seemed to take pictures of was... the food.

Knowing Kelley though, she probably doesn't mind.

Well, you get the idea.

More here.

Thank You

P.S.

Dear anonymous door decorator:

thank you.

you rock.

you made us smile.

who are you?

handiwork:

You'll Like It.

18 days left. We're in the chute now.

I am terrified, excited, nervous, calm, ready, underprepared, overprepared - individually or all at once depending on mood.

On another note though, you should really check out this poem written by my friend Jacob. I meant to post about it weeks/months ago, but it has fallen by the wayside, like so many other things lately.

The poem is lovely, haunting; at once both painfully personal and achingly universal. And, like life, there is hope at the end.



(P.S. If you like it, leave him a comment and tell him so - he's one of those "aw shucks it's not really THAT good" kind of guys, and we need to show him that yes, actually, it is)

In Which We Vacation With Sketchy Folks

Last weekend The Mister and I went to Flagstaff with some questionable people.

They made us stay in a shack:

They made us sit around and stare at each other, and listen to Adam's guitar. I guess it was okay, if you like good music and all.

They dressed their devilishly cute children in old-man pajamas and gave them old-man beverages.

They made us sit outside, completely exposed to the elements, with nothing but a cup of butterscotch hot chocolate and conversation to keep us busy. I mean, who in their right mind enjoys a sunny, 65-degree day spent on a cabin deck among pine trees?

And then they scared us with big black bear sightings.

And they made us tell stories while they watched with laser-like focus.

Whew. It's a good thing we escaped safely.

*All pictures courtesy of Tara*