It's the Little Things

continued from 02/06...

I can not figure out why people describe the Spanish as being a lay back people. The general impression appears to be that they work for a few hours, knock off for siesta, toil for a few more hours (maybe!) knock off for the day and head out for tapas. Hmmm...come to think of it, that's pretty accurate. That all changes in the grocery store, however, where it's everyone for themselves! They don't meander or mosey--they scurry. Loudly. Very, very loudly! Once the imperturbable Spanish cross the threshold of the Supermacado they morph into zealous predators, single-mindedly intent on hunting down their prey (i.e. groceries) and returning to home and hearth triumphant!

After maneuvering our wagons up and down the jam-packed aisles of hyperactive natives, we were a little farther along then when we started. Jeremy braved the fish department and succeeded in purchasing an amount of shrimp roughly equal to what we'd consume at a meal. or so we thought until we realized that the little devils were sold with the heads still on, the removal of which shrunk our haul considerably. We managed to find fruit and bread and potato chips (battatas fritas...yummy!). We had the very good fortune of bumping into our temporary neighbors, Ian and Alison, who patiently explained that the 50 cents paid for the shopping cart was actually a deposit that was returned to the customer upon nestling the cart back into the queue and locking it to the one in front (no wonder the man had glared at me as I'd tried to release his cart from his grasp!). With Ian and Alison to guide us, our courage returned and we were actually able to come home with some food that we'd actually eat.

But then came the adventure of the heavy cream. Having decided to make both seafood pasta and chocolate mousse for our delightful British neighbors, Ian and Alison, the acquisition of heavy cream became imperative. Back to the Supermacado. But this time, we were prepared, having looked up the words for cream and whipped cream, I figured we could noodle it out. I delegated the finding of the cream to Jeremy and set about picking up the remaining ingredients. After a long time, he zig-zagged his way through the throng of shoppers (it helps that Jeremy is 6'3" so I can always spot him towering over the shorter-statured Spanish) and triumphantly handed me a smallish round container, confidently proclaiming that he'd found the heavy cream. "It doesn't look like heavy cream," I noted. "It is," he replied confidently, "I asked the clerk for it." "The English-speaking clerk?" I asked hopefully. Well, no...but he'd made the motion for beating the cream and she'd nodded vigorously. "I don't think this is heavy cream," I mourned, "I think it is light cream. " An-in-depth discussion in the fruit aisle ensued, followed by me nagging Jeremy into taking me over to the area of the store where he'd found the alleged heavy cream so I could have a look for myself. Hmmm...my gut told me this was not heavy cream. In fact, I was quite sure it was coffee cream, or light cream, but not the whipping variety. With nothing better to offer, I picked up our of the containers, put them in my basket, sighed, paid, bagged, retrieved my 50 cents and left.

Of course we arrived home to discover that we'd purchased four containers of sour cream. I found out later that the "slang" word for heavy cream is actually the Spanish word for "mountain" followed by the word for cream--indicating that when it is beaten, it forms peaks. Duh......

I love America......