Nico and I watched part of "The Phantom of the Opera" last night.
The ensuing discussion:
Nico: Wow, just because you're jealous doesn't mean it's okay to go and throw a tambourine on someone's head.
Me: You mean a chandelier?
Nico: Yeah, that's what I meant... Boy, the phantom's parents really didn't teach him to behave very well!
*IMPORTANT NOTICE! I am moving this blog over to a different host in the next couple of weeks. This means that if you come to this page via any address except www.johannawrites.com, your link will no longer work. Please update your feeds and bookmarks!
I know I've said this before but one of the things I like most about living in Spain are the school lunches. Both in Madrid and in Barcelona, Nico has had delicious, healthy and varied lunches at school. Certainly they're a far cry from the tater tots, hamburgers, tacos and overcooked canned green beans that seemed to show up 9 out of 10 times in the school lunches of my youth (although I do long for a good tater tot every now and then). Today, for example, they ate lentils with rice, hake in tomato sauce, salad and seasonal fruit. Tomorrow they'll be having chickpeas with spinach, chicken, salad and seasonal fruit.
One of the benefits of these lunches is that they teach him to appreciate foods that I'd normally never prepare at home. The problem with this is that I have no idea how to make a lot of this stuff in the style to which he's become accustomed. Lentils and chickpeas are ingredients that show up at least twice a week at school and Nico claims to love both. Whenever I try to make either one however, he complains and says I don't know how to do it right. The infamous "Bottom Soup" is a case in point.
To digress just a bit, I can see that more and more I'm becoming "the weird foreign mother" in Nico's eyes. While American kids of immigrants complain that their mothers talk funny, can't help them with their homework or whip up a decent batch of cupcakes; Kids in Spain with immigrant parents get embarrassed when their moms talk funny, can't help them with their homework or whip up a decent pot of lentils. Also, they don't like it when you pick them up at school wearing khaki shorts (how American!).
I royally embarrassed Nico the other day when as I was paying for some fruit, I started muttering the amount of change I was counting out in Spanish. In reality, I was just saying some of the numbers aloud and muttering the others (as one does while counting change), but to Nico it sounded like this "Two, seven, eight, three, five..." After we left the store, he looked at me in horror and asked "But Mommy, WHY were you counting like that?? That isn't at all how the numbers go in Spanish!" He then proceeded to review with me the numbers from one to ten to ensure that such a humiliating event would never again occur in the future. Yep, I'm that mom now. The one who doesn't even know how to count right.
Back to food though. Lentils are an integral part of Spanish home-cooking, so ubiquitous that I once had a friend in Madrid who complained that the neighbors lentils were always floating up out of her shower drain (ew!). The lentils I have made up until now, however, could only be described as.... um, well... brown? Brown and boring. No wonder Nico complains.
But now I know how to make a truly delicious lentil dish thanks to my latest class at Hofmann. These melt in your mouth without being mushy and the flavor is divine. So this is where all that lentil-love comes from! Head over to Barcelona Bites for the recipe!
The scatological Catalan Christmas report continues and if you thought El Caganer was weird, wait until you hear this...
So while you guys were attending midnight mass or singing "Frosty the Snowman" or frantically assembling a Playmobil space navigation station, guess what the Catalans were doing on Christmas Eve?
Now imagine if you got David Lynch and John Waters together and ordered them to devise a Christmas scenario which involved poop. Just think about the possibilities and then understand that reality would still be stranger than fiction.
Because here is what they were doing. They were standing around logs, beating them with sticks and ordering the logs to poop candies. I'm serious people.
The poor little log is named "Caga Tío" (Pooping Log) and he usually has a face painted on him and is dressed in a jaunty cap and Christmas blanket.
As I understand it, in the days leading up to Christmas, he is fed copious amounts of orange peels (or whatever) which he will then poop out in the form of sweets on the big day. To get him to poop, you must stand around beating him with a stick while singing the following song:
caga tió,
caga torró, avellanes i mató, si no cagues bé et daré un cop de bastó. caga tió!"
Translation:
"Poop log, poop sweets if you don't poop well, I'll hit you with a stick, poop log!"
You don't believe me? Look at this video.
Or this one which is even better because Caga Tío has antlers.
Poor Nico. A multi-cultural background is a blessing but it can be quite confusing around this time of year. First we went to a Hanukkah party and ate pumpernickel bagels. Next we started talking about Santa Claus (called "Papa Noel" in these parts) while in his class they constructed Los Reyes Magos (the three "magic kings" who leave presents for Spanish children on January 6th*) out of play-doh. In the meantime, his Colombian grandmother was asking him what he hoped "El Niño Jesus" would be bringing him, and at school all the kids couldn't stop talking about a log that poops presents.
To top things off, he lost his first two teeth within the past few weeks. The first time he was here and the Tooth Fairy paid him a visit. The second time was in New York City with his Colombian relatives and it was El Ratoncito Perez (a small mouse named Perez who deals with the teeth of the Spanish speaking world) who showed up.
The future therapy bills are mounting...
*instead of leaving a carrot out for the reindeer, water must be left for the camels
It's been a while since I've posted here but for those of you who are interested, I still post plenty over at Barcelona Bites!
It's almost Christmas here in Barcelona. For the first time in 8 years, I won't be returning to the US this year for the holidays although Alex is going to NYC with the boys. I plan to stay here and draw, cook, read, watch bad TV, and sleep as late as I want EVERY SINGLE MORNING.
In the meantime, although I've seen some pretty odd things in my years living abroad, I have to say that some of the stuff I'm seeing around town this holiday season in Barcelona is truly taking the cake as far was weird is concerned.
Let's start with Nico's school Christmas production. I don't know about you, but when I think of the holiday plays of my youth, the images that come to mind are full of wholesome happiness and cheer. At Nico's school here in Barcelona on the other hand, they rubbed their hands together and said, "Heeeey, how about we present the darker side of Christmas? Cackle Cackle!"
Check out the finale of this year's production. You may notice that rather than Christmas trees, elves and reindeer, there is instead an evil butcher who slaughters three children (I especially love the jaunty little hop the actress makes in order to make sure the job is well finished).
Admittedly, the fact that "Sant Nicolau" comes along and brings the children back to life gives the story a happy ending. But still, dios mío people! And I thought the Grinch was a dark tale! From what I've been able to find out on the Internet, this is a legend of Saint Nicholas that is most often told in France.
If you think that's a bit odd, just wait for what I'll be posting next!
On a lighter note, here is Nico's part in the show. He is the little blond soldier with the bowl haircut in the last row of the first scene.
And then we have Nico, enjoying a sandwich and the Sardana while clad in a fashionable accesory. Actually he is supposed to be "a superhero dressed for autumn" (note the brown leaves on the scarf).
I love it that I am genuinely enjoying hanging out with Nico these days. Not just because he's my kid or because he says funny stuff, but because he's a really great person. Last week I was staying in my friend Ashley's Brooklyn apartment while she was away on her honeymoon and one night Nico came over for a sleepover (he was staying with my husband and his mother in her apartment in Manhattan). We got sushi and Nico said it was "the best little Japanese meal" he'd ever had. Then we stayed up late reading in bed before snuggling up to fall asleep together. The next morning we woke up to the sounds of chickens clucking in the yard of the building next door. There was a also a "Kids Spa" around the corner from the apartment. Ahhh Brooklyn, you just get weirder and weirder...
Most interesting of all was Nico's reaction to my friend's apartment. As soon as we walked in, he began wandering around, running his fingers over things and murmuring appreciatively. "This is really fancy Mommy," he said as he fingered a small golden candle holder. Then after pronouncing several more things to be fancy, he stated that "even the air" was fancy... "very fresh smelling." He topped it off the next morning by saying that we should be very careful what we touch so that Ashley wouldn't come home from "her honeymoon night with her cousin*" and get upset that we'd gotten "our germs all over her fancy things."
First of all, let me say that it is a very nice apartment. However, judging from Nico's reaction, you'd think that we live in some sort of hovel. It made me start wondering if maybe it isn´t time to spruce our place up just a bit more.
*My friend Ashley did not, in fact, marry her cousin. However, for whatever reason Nico has always had trouble distinguishing the difference between husbands and cousins. We first noticed this when he told us last year how lucky he was to have a nice husband back in Colombia.
Last week we took Nico to Lagoon, Utah's amusement park. It made me feel very old. Jake and I went on a roller coaster that goes upside down and I couldn't walk straight for about 45 minutes afterwards. Next I went on one of those waterslide tubes where you have to lie down on your back and cross your arms on your chest and it took me another 45 minutes before I could turn my head correctly.
As for Nico, he has simple tastes and his favorite part of the whole day was running around in the fountains.
Guess what? I'm starting culinary school in Barcelona in October. The school I'll be going to is called Hofmann and it is owned by Chef Mey Hofmann who also runs the Michelin starred Hofmann Restaurant in Barcelona. It should be an amazing experience and I really can't wait! Of course I hope to write all about it on Barcelona Bites.
In the meantime, I am required to buy myself a ridiculously expensive set of knives. I could buy a plane ticket to somewhere very very far away with the money I will be spending on these knives and trust me, there are times when that idea seems tempting. The other day I allowed Nico to tie me by the neck to the sun umbrella on my aunt's front porch. It kept him busy and quiet for a good ten minutes and when I found myself weighing the pros and cons of the situation, I decided it was worth it.
Cons:
-I could possibly choke to death
-Nico could get bored and go inside, leaving me as an unwilling spectacle for any visitor who should approach the house. Several explanations could flash through their minds, none of which would do much for my reputation.
-Nico could fall off the edge of the front porch and since I would not be able to rescue him myself, I would have to scream and scream until somebody else came along and did it as I looked on helplessly.
Pros:
I would have ten minutes to quietly read my book.
But yes, the knives are expensive and this means that I plan to never ever EVER buy another knife again for the entire rest of my life. When I think about it, given that I have never owned either a car or a house, the knives might be the most expensive thing (outside of a plane ticket) that I have ever bought for myself. I can honestly say that I never predicted that at the age of 35, my most pricey possessions would be knives. If someone had told me this 15 years ago I'm pretty sure that I would have been seriously concerned.
It's also a good thing that I'm not living in Egypt thousands of years ago because if I died right now, my tomb would contain me, a bicycle, a second-hand vintage Gucci handbag, and a bunch of knives.
Speaking of knives, in Spanish cities there are men who ride around on motorbikes that have special knife-sharpening stones attached to the back. They blow a little whistle as they ride through the neighborhoods (Nico's friend Betty was convinced that the whistling meant fairies lived on our street), and anyone who needs their knives or scissors sharpened can run out and catch them. Some of them go door-to-door as well and back when I first moved to Spain, it would always freak me out a bit when my buzzer was rung by strange men babbling about sharp knives.
Here is our local fairy/knife sharpener at work in Barcelona. There's a bit too much facial hair, duct tape and grease involved in the operation for my taste. A pair of diaphanous wings is just what he needs don't you think?
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