Baguette Me.

20 Feb

I never thought I was a picky eater.

Until I left the country.

I’m not sure how those people who only eat chicken nuggets, peanut butter and jelly, and macaroni and cheese survive out of the country… or stay thin. Bitches.

In Spain food has morphed from a caloric depression absolver to scavenger hunt. Some days in the grocery store I feel like that kid from Into the Wild and I’m praying to the food gods that this nut won’t kill me … or start eating my organs…. will taste like something a human would eat…and that Eddie Vedder will start singing my soundtrack after I die. The entire food experience has led me to be overjoyed with Golden Grahams and Orbit gum. Both of which I can read the label. The rest is gray area. Thank God for all those college years because my diet now consists of pasta, pizza, and pasta. I alternate my Italian delicacies to keep my taste buds on their toes.

I’ve eaten enough pasta in 5 weeks to kill an Italian.

AND OH MY GOD THE BREAD. (I could write 5 whole posts about the bread.) I’m not sure what those bakers in America are doing… but they are doing it wrong. You can’t get bread like in Europe. And my ass is proof. I think I go through a baguette a day. And when I say bread I don’t mean bread and cheese, or bread and mustard, or even like an actual sandwich. I mean just straight bread. I think about bread. I dream about bread. The bread has changed my life.

I’m going to need bread rehab.

But what’s even worse than my unhealthy bread addiction and lack of cooking skills is once again… the language. Surprisingly… they don’t have English menu’s here. Sssshhhhhhocking. So my poor friends are stuck translating everything (I already have menu anxiety;  you throw in a foreign language and I’m looking around for a paper bag and a corner to go rock myself in.) We have discovered, however… that you can’t translate a menu. And you especially can’t translate types of fish. Even my translator can’t translate.

My very first experience with eating out in Spain involved the death of a pig and a weekend of a salad diet and Jamon (which is really just fancy ham jerky that may or may not be cooked… the jury is still out… but the fat surrounding it definitely isn’t)… which is appropriate for EVERY occasion in the country… from posh CD release parties to pig killings. It’s like the Reese’s Peanut Butter cup of the States. My second experience was pig ears. They look like wontons and taste like fried oil flavor. you should try it sometime… at your own risk. My third experience was cow tail. I’m eating what I thought was really fatty stew with a ridiculous amount of bones in it when my friend let me in on the secret…. I could have gone my whole life…. and then some…. not knowing I was eating a tail. After I decided I wasn’t going to pass out or that I was food poisoned, I figured out the word for tail and have made a mental note to cross it off as a menu option.

I’m thinking I’ll just label baguette my “manna” and see how long before my hair starts to fall out or I die of anemia. Bets anyone?

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