Last Sunday Paul and Mike brought me a Spanish omelette with chorizo. A baguette, some Iberian lomo and chorizo sausage, a little Emmental cheese which wasn’t Manchego but still did the trick and a bottle of Rioja that I barely tried (I don’t want t turn into Paula Abdul with the vicodin, thank you very much) completed a most delicious Spanish lunch.
Of course the great company didn’t hurt at all, but that handful of flavors alone was able to put me in one of my best moods of the last mainly joyless weeks. Comfort food. That’s what Americans call these magic foodstuffs able to take you two decades back and five thousand miles away in the blink of an eye. Comida como Dios manda, as we would say in distant eternal Spain.
2 comments:
But we'll all miss Paula, now that she's gone!
I know, that boring Ellen can never fill her crazy-ass shoes
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