Mojo Rojo & Other Great Spanish Stories
A few days ago Chris asked me if i would like to join him and Ares and possibly another kid named Derek, of Mississippi, on a trip down to Taragona, a city roughly 1 hour to the south of Barcelona. We were to have lunch with one of Ares's good friends' family on their peach farm. A once in a life-time opportunity for an American boy traveling through Europe to be invited into the home of a Spanish family to eat their food and celebrate their traditions. How could I turn down such an offer?
We met at Barcelona Saints station to board our train to Taragona. We had only 5 minutes to purchase our tickets, make our way to the gate, and board the train. I have a Eurail pass and so the purchasing of tickets in unnecessary for me, but, I wasn't exactly going to be leaving without them and by the looks of the line, today was surely progressing like yesterday. Luckily, Ares saw a familiar face at the front of the line and managed to jump in with her friend to buy all the necessary tickets. We bolted to the gate while I was seeing images of my favorite childhood movie, Home Alone, flashing before my eyes, and after fighting tooth and nail to get seats onboard the car, we were finally able to get comfortable. Finding seats together is a senseless goal and so we just grab any seats we can find.
When we arrived at Taragona station we were picked up by Alef, a very good friend of Ares, in his Blue VW Golf. Rather than describing to you the intricacies of that conversation I will fastforward a bit. No one ever accused me of being concise.
Arriving at the peach farm we noticed a decaying house where all the family had gathered. I thought there were many people when we first showed up, but with every passing minute even more apeared. By the time I had finished my Whiskey and Coke there were roughly 16 people consisting of 1 family, 2 friends, and 3 Americans. The first course, ONIONS! They call them something completely different, and eat them differently at that. While the name currently slips my mind (maybe it's chive or scallions), the straight onions that you usually find in cream cheese or in a salad, are cooked over an open flame by the bushel. Wait, now I remember, they're called Colsots. Then the sprouts are layed out on the table and to eat them, you grab the very bottom and top of the plant and pull apart. The inside of the vegitable is revealed and after dipping it in their special sauce, consume. Many pictures were taken as this whole event was quite the experience.
The next course were various forms of sausages along with bread and with a garlic, onion, and butter spread, followed by artichokes. And boy do I love artichokes. The amusing thing is that many of the people around the table didn't care for the hearts, a fact that astonished me. But I made the most by helping them consume their least favorite parts.
Dessert consisted of homemade brownies, cookies, coffee, and of course, more whiskey. Now, while I'm convinced this entire entry has been very poorly written and is probably in need of some editing (it's early and I did not get home until late last night), I must leave it as it lies right now as I'm going to lunch with another Spanish family. These really are full day meals. It used to boggle my mind how someone could eat for hours and hours, a cloud obstructing my thought which has recently been lifted.
We met at Barcelona Saints station to board our train to Taragona. We had only 5 minutes to purchase our tickets, make our way to the gate, and board the train. I have a Eurail pass and so the purchasing of tickets in unnecessary for me, but, I wasn't exactly going to be leaving without them and by the looks of the line, today was surely progressing like yesterday. Luckily, Ares saw a familiar face at the front of the line and managed to jump in with her friend to buy all the necessary tickets. We bolted to the gate while I was seeing images of my favorite childhood movie, Home Alone, flashing before my eyes, and after fighting tooth and nail to get seats onboard the car, we were finally able to get comfortable. Finding seats together is a senseless goal and so we just grab any seats we can find.
When we arrived at Taragona station we were picked up by Alef, a very good friend of Ares, in his Blue VW Golf. Rather than describing to you the intricacies of that conversation I will fastforward a bit. No one ever accused me of being concise.
Arriving at the peach farm we noticed a decaying house where all the family had gathered. I thought there were many people when we first showed up, but with every passing minute even more apeared. By the time I had finished my Whiskey and Coke there were roughly 16 people consisting of 1 family, 2 friends, and 3 Americans. The first course, ONIONS! They call them something completely different, and eat them differently at that. While the name currently slips my mind (maybe it's chive or scallions), the straight onions that you usually find in cream cheese or in a salad, are cooked over an open flame by the bushel. Wait, now I remember, they're called Colsots. Then the sprouts are layed out on the table and to eat them, you grab the very bottom and top of the plant and pull apart. The inside of the vegitable is revealed and after dipping it in their special sauce, consume. Many pictures were taken as this whole event was quite the experience.
The next course were various forms of sausages along with bread and with a garlic, onion, and butter spread, followed by artichokes. And boy do I love artichokes. The amusing thing is that many of the people around the table didn't care for the hearts, a fact that astonished me. But I made the most by helping them consume their least favorite parts.
Dessert consisted of homemade brownies, cookies, coffee, and of course, more whiskey. Now, while I'm convinced this entire entry has been very poorly written and is probably in need of some editing (it's early and I did not get home until late last night), I must leave it as it lies right now as I'm going to lunch with another Spanish family. These really are full day meals. It used to boggle my mind how someone could eat for hours and hours, a cloud obstructing my thought which has recently been lifted.
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