September 23, 2013 17 Comments
Right now, the proverbial deer and I have a lot more in common besides our big brown eyes. After spending three years complaining that there is nothing to eat but chicken and mince I am now at a loss for words (and recipes). Catalunya is rich beyond anything I’ve ever seen. The variety of food, be it from land or sea, is astonishing and bewildering.
Everyone knows about the Boqueira Market in Barcelona but I find that easing myself gently into, say, the Public Market of Vilanova is a good start. To begin with, it is entirely made up of the local population, most of whom will only converse in Catalan. There is an elderly woman with long white hair pinned up in a loose chignon selling Cava, tomatoes and green beans. I buy 5 of her bruised ugly tomatoes, confident that they will prove to be the best I’ve had all summer (they are) and all the while she rattles on in Catalan and calls me ‘nena‘ (girl child). The effect of which is momentarily transformative. For almost five years now, I’ve been a mother. My mind is resolutely practical, entirely unflappable, with an astounding amount of ‘fear not little one for here is an adult with a plan’ stowed away to be doled out with great generosity as my girls peel at that many layers of life. When this lovely Cava seller calls me child, I have a glimpse of my mind, uncluttered and wide open as it had been once upon a time when I was the little girl. Read more of this post