Life: Idiotropic

Today I felt like I belonged.  In some strange way, though I've been quite content, today, at Caxton's "fun day" of all places, something just clicked. 


It was a carnival style event.  Booths, crafts, games.  Small prizes.  Each teacher ran a booth.  Kids ran freely from activity to activity.  Parents socialized.  In this small thing that felt so abnormally normal,  I realized that my time of "newcomer" has come to an end.  Today I recognized and was recognized.  Today I talked, a lot, to a lot of different people.  And it all felt normal.  And I felt like I was part of something now.  I'm not on the outside looking in any more.   The water is no longer cold.  Now I'm in, the water's warm, and my toes are wet.  Time for a swim.

The kids played.  (They're "swimming" too.)  Arianna and Luci visited the activities and decorated cookies.  Elise saw the trophies at the chess table when we first arrived and was so determined to win one that she spent almost the entire 2 hours of "fun day" at that chess table playing against her teacher who was walking inside the circle of tables playing all the kids at once.  I was so proud of her.  She gave up all the other activities in order to achieve her goal and she did. 

At the end of the time, Elise went home with her best friend, Lola, for her very first sleepover ever and Luci went home with her friend Natasha for the rest of the day.  Arianna went home to have "special sister time" with Tiara and Kirk and I went out to a tapas bar.  Our family of six split into 4 different directions, a busy sunny Saturday... it's so "normal," it's becoming a bit like home.

Today was an event.  Not only was I going to have lunch with Elise and Enrique, but I was going to the infamous Trattoria Da Carlo where everything is amazing.  I have heard Carlo's praises sung several times now as Enrique and Elisa tell how they never order off the menu.  "We just ask Carlo what we should eat, and it's always good."  Now, I can join the choir.  It is that good.

The downside?  Parking and poor planning.  First, getting there is really quite easy once you survive the first three roundabouts, but then parking is not available at lunch time, so it's preferable to leave 15 minutes earlier than planned to allow for driving in circles and a potentially long walk.  Second, if you go and you're a foodie, don't do what I did and bring a great camera equipped only with a macro lens.  That is not a good food lens.  (Hence the lack of photos 'cause who needs macro tempura?)

Carlo's son came to take our drink orders.  A few months ago, I would have ordered coffee.  I love coffee.  But now, I'm learning.

     "Vino Blanco, por favor." Enrique's smile and nod of approval let me know that I made the right choice.  Finally, this American girl has figured out that you don't drink coffee with lunch!

    "Would you mind if we shared a bottle?"  he asked.  Is there more than one answer to that?  I think not.  So the tall, dark, and quite handsome son of Carlo brought the wine, poured a bit for me to try, then served everyone as I mmmmed to the light fruity white that was neither dry nor sweet.  Just perfect.

Carlo himself isn't as tall, nor as handsome, but he makes up for it in personality.  Medium height, heavy build, this is the stereotypical Italian restaurant owner who shows the greatness of the restaurant by his girth for who can trust a skinny foodie?  He is happy to see my friends for they are regulars enough to be his friends and he is very friendly to me using the one or two English words that he knows.  He goes through the list of suggestions.  Enrique translates.   Spain has more words for seafood than I ever thought imaginable.  We say "clams."  They say, "What which ones?  We have 30." 
    
There are big almost chartreuse colored olives on the table.  Soft and smooth, they are mildly flavored, but meaty and delicious.  I wanted to eat them all, but knew more food was coming, so followed the lead of my friends and stopped at a couple.

Some sort of clam arrived for Enrique.
     "You know they're fresh when they move," he smiles as he squeezes a lemon wedge over one and watches it recoil.
     "Would you like to try one?  Come on!"  I think he enjoys watching my reaction.  No, thank you.  I prefer my food dead.  Really.   Live food just isn't for me, though it is fascinating to watch them wince at each drop of lemon juice.  Entertainment, yes, nutrition, not so much.

     Carlo comes to the table with his "ensalada de bikini" smiling and joking with Elisa.
     "Ahhh.  Here comes my salad."  Elisa is smiling at the oblong plate Carlo carries.  She offers me some.
     "No, thank you.  It's your salad."  Smiles.
     "I knew she'd think that," Enrique laughs.
     "No, no, it's to share," says Elisa, "I just call it mine because I order it all of the time." 

I want to order it all the time too.  I'd like to be there now eating that and only that.  It's enough and it's absolutely fabulous.  On one third of the plate sits the ensalada de pulpo, a neat pile of finely cubed celery, herbs, and beautiful purple rounds of octopus.  It's cold and refreshing.  In the center sits three dark leaves of some sort of sea plant.  Crisp and juicy like a lettuce, but more substantial, it has a hint of saltiness from the sea.  The last third has a simple line of some sort of fish.  Simple, delicious.  Also cold, but very good.  Perfect... but that was just round one.

Round two.  An assortment of things each arriving in a neat set of three so that each of us could try a little.  Tempura vegetables, a small round sea plant deep fried in batter, a delicious mix of sauteed artichokes  and some small creature that looks like a miniature octopus.  The entire creature is there - hood, legs, and all, inky black in the middle and just 1" long.  This would normally terrify me, but I'm with friends and this is Carlo's place, so I eat them and wow, they really are good.   Enrique puts the last one on my plate and I don't complain.  The last third of this plate displays a happy trio of perfect pink scampi poised like they are ready to jump.  My friends give me a lesson.  Enrique with that boyish smile and eyes that squint when he's happy.  He looks like he's always up to something.

     "We Spanish believe that the best part of the scampi is the head."  I'm picking it up gently and looking at it.  Then I look at my fork and knife.
     "Don't be polite.  The best way is to suck it."  I'm taking a lesson now watching both of my friends snap the heads off of the prawn, crack it with their teeth, then put their lips to it and suck out the juices.
     "I think the Italians and the Spanish both eat them this way.  It isn't rude here."  Eww.  Ok.  So, I did it, but may be I did it wrong.  I think the pulpo is better... and certainly easier to eat.

A small plate of water arrived just in time with three white marshmallows.  They looked, at least, exactly like marshmallows, but when you put them into the water, they expand into nice moist cloths for cleaning scampi juice off of fingers and faces.

In between each course a young girl comes to sweep off the table and collect the crumbs on a long silver spatula.  We get new plates.  The white linen looks beautiful.

Our last course:  pasta.  Elisa and Enrique share a plate of vegetable stuffed giant ravioli.  Yum.  Really, really good.  I had fettucine alfredo which is like no other, intensely flavored, but with flavor, not fat.  It didn't coat your mouth of make you feel heavy like many do.   It was just really, really, good.

The wine had been finished and a bottle of Cava had already arrived.  I looked at my watch calculating the time I had to leave and when I should stop drinking cava.

     "Dessert?"
     "Oh, but I'm stuffed."
     "But you only live once..."

Dining here is like running a marathon.  I'm already mentally preparing for that one last plate.  A deep breath.  Exhale slowly.  Visualize the finish line.  Ready.... GO!

One plate, nine pieces.  Three desserts to share.  A pastry with apple that I didn't try because it was my way of "being good" after eating so, so much.  A small cinnamon flavored donut topped with nutella that was good, but not fabulous, and a beautiful cannoli that is as good as the ones my Sicilian friends make - and that's saying A LOT.

A shot of hot espresso, a little sugar, and a glass with two large ice cubes.  Swirl.  It's an Italian-style iced coffee and just the thing to get myself out of my chair and on the road.

Fabulous friends who talk and laugh and joke - great people who don't take life too seriously.  An amazing meal.   I'd like to come here enough for that octopus salad to be "my salad" too.

Kirk and I were supposed to go out on a date tonight... it's 5pm as we're finishing lunch.  May be tomorrow...

I walked outside to call for Arianna.  It was evening and time for her shower.  All three little girls stood in a line at the corner of the house, looking furtively to the right.   You don't have to be Sherlock to know something is up right then and there. 

Arianna walked passed me as I headed towards the line up.  She stopped and yelled back to Tiara, "Hold on.  I want to see how mad Mom is going to be."

I rounded the corner through the quick explanations and pleeding of the youngest two.  "We just wanted to make a little house for them.  Please, please, Mom, can't we keep them just until tomorrow???"

There sat the Dora castle that I'd set out for the neighbors.  All three castle floors were covered with leaves and pink oleander flowers which happen to be a favorite flood of the new residents.

Snails.  Six of them.  I didn't ask their names, but took a deep breath and walked away.  Fine.  The girls can clean the castle tomorrow.  The snails look too happy to move.

Today Luci and Arianna performed with their choir group for roughly an hour.  I diligently videoed generous clips of each song zooming in on my two girls.  I took stills.

I came home and my card won't load.  Won't be read.  Won't do anything.  A 4G card possibly kaput.

Thankfully, I have this video that the school did.  They don't zoom in on my kids, but at least you can hear a bit of the silliness.

It's the little things.

I've never made Jamaican Jerk anything before, but today I saw Jamaican Jerk sauce at Masymas, the grocery that caters a bit to the British, and I bought it because it was there and exciting and different.  I probably would have never bought it in the states.  Why?  I'd buy the raw ingredients and make my own sauce.  I don't even know what the raw ingredients are, but today it was that bit of "home," that thing that I knew even though I'd never cooked it.  It was the familiarity that sold me.

Normally, I avoid Masymas.  There's an odd assortment of things that I can't find anywhere else, but there's a fairly consistent funky smell that lingers there.  Today there was no smell, so I lingered longer than usual and found English muffins as well.

We haven't had English muffins in over a year.  Wow.  The girls each ate one and wanted more.  Sorry.  There were only 4 in the package.  We'd forgotten how delicious they are.

It's strange.  There are so many little things that we miss... or don't miss because we simply have forgotten.  Luci misses frozen waffles.  I'm going crazy because I know I purchased coconut cream here in Spain, but don't remember at which grocery, so now I have to search them all.

It's just grocery shopping.  It's not eventful.  But even the grocery store here can be exciting.

Masymas is having a special:  1 chicken and 1 rabbit for 9.99.  Not bad.  It's paella season.

A few weeks ago, British author Paul Cookson came to the girl's school to read poems to them.  Afterwards the girls had the opportunity to buy some of his poetry book and have him autograph them.  They were all very excited and quite impressed to have met a real author.

A couple weeks later we got a note from the school saying that Mr. Cookson had so enjoyed his time at the school that he was going to have a little poetry contest and there would be real prizes.

Of course, Arianna and Luci both wanted to enter.  It took them a while to get ideas on paper and I told them I wouldn't help them until they wrote something.

This afternoon I sat down with them and their words, talked about how we could make some simple rules for the poems to tie them together, and voila, they wrote these poems.  Their ideas, their words - just a few questions from me and a bit of brainstorming.  So cool.  They will enter them tomorrow.  We'll see how they do.

If I am to ever be a farmer, I have now discovered my crop.  The humble níspero whose season is short, but impression is deep.  The sound itself is sweet.  I discovered it the day we moved in and my landlord pointed out the funny looking tree with the big leaves in our back yard.   Níspero, níspero, níspero.

In April they began to grow and by early May there were a few that were orange and ready, but I didn't quite know what to do with them.

Then our friends came over.  They're from Callosa, the land of the níspero, the town where all the nísperos of Spain are grown and exported.  Younger Enrique picked one off the tree, pealed off the thin skin easily with his fingers, pulled the small fruit apart and took out the two large brown seeds, then removed the small white membrane inside handing me what remained, a very juicy little fruit.

It's wet like a watermelon, but with a firmer flesh.  Star fruit came to mind then.  Wet, but with no distinctive flavor.  May be it was just not quite ready. The girls pulled up a stool and started picking and eating nísperos as quickly as they could.  It was an instant hit with the younger set.

A week later, I tried one and it was amazing.  Delicious.  Sweet with just a bit of tartness.  Juicy and refreshing.  Not soft like a peach, nor crisp like an apple, but a perfect compromise in the middle.  Dense and delicious.

So when on my birthday my friends drove up from Callosa that day bearing two large crates of nísperos, we were all happy.   Several of my friends had not tried the níspero before.  I put a bowl on the table to share and soon the lesson began again  just like I had on the first day.  First peal off the thin skin like this...

June now and the season is over.  They've nearly disappeared from the markets and only a few remain on my tree.  Sad.  Now we must wait 11 months for our next batch.

On Friday, the phone rang.

It was someone from the Caxton primary and the conversation began like it always does when they call.

     "Hello?"
     "Hello, Mrs. Stahlbaum?  This is [insert name here] from Caxton's Primary Office.  Don't worry.  Nothing has happened."

I never really know how to reply to this.

     "Thank you.  Yes?"

A marketing agency is looking for a girl's voice with an American accent.  The "school has nothing to do with it," but they passed along the name and number and soon I was on the phone with Africa Pons at Tabalet Estudis.

We made an appointment for today.

The studio is in a small white building attached to a larger "amarillo amarillo" building in Alboraya pretty much in the middle of horchata fields and farton factories.  

I saw Africa standing at the doorway waving to us as we pulled in.  The short nicely dressed woman led us in, seated us to wait, and before we'd sat, Eva was ready and leading us into her tiny recording studio complete with the huge sound boards with knobs and buttons.

Arianna went first then they proceeded in age order.  They each went into the recording room, padded like the the movies.  They had their headsets and sat on tall stools in front of the big microphone.

Eva explained that the translations weren't correct, but that it was just to play and practice and get an idea of the girls voices.  She read a line to Arianna.  Arianna answered back.  "Look!  It's Nancy and her pony Fantasy!"  Another line.  Repeat.  She was repeating the lines exactly as they were told to her - accent and all.

"Arianna," I'd interrupt, "say the words like an American, please.   Don't copy her accent."

All three of the girls listened to Eva say the sentences in her heavily accented English.  It was crazy.  My American kids were saying "bee-u-tee-ful" slow and precise.  They were saying simple words like "well" in perfect Spanish English -  "whale."

Eva didn't care.  She said they were there to play.  She played with the buttons and suddenly Arianna sounded like a chipmunk.  Aria laughed hysterically.  Luci's turn, more laughter.  Elise's turn, sulking.  Elise was taking this more seriously and just wanted to read the lines, not play.

We all had a good time.  They said they'll call us back.  They want to use one of the girls voices.  "Next time, I'll read the lines for the girls," I suggested.   We got a good laugh.  Eva and Africa are in full agreement.

In honor of today, the first day this season that I have ventured out on to the hot sandy beaches in my bathing suit,  I bring you this comic which sums up my sentiments of summer attire. 

Our last afternoon in Portugal, we walked leisurely along the banks of Vila Nova de Gaia, across the steely blue bridge spanning the Duoro, and down along the waterfront of Porto.  The sun warmed our shoulders and cast a magical glow on this day where we drug our feet a bit regretting that we’d ever have to leave.  This week has been absolute magic and that’s not just the port talking.

We walked slowly along the path between the river and an endless line of restaurants.  You know where one ends and another begins only by the change in umbrellas and chair back colors at these little places where there is more seating outside than in.  I stopped at each placard to read the menu seeing if there might be something appealing for everyone in our group of eight and when we did, we found ourselves at Chez Lapin, a local icon for over 70 years.

Our waiter brought bread to our table accompanied by a delicious white bean vegetable salad and a garlic tuna “pate.”  At this the table became silent except for “mmmm,” and “we need to get more of this.”  The tuna was light and creamy almost like the stuff I put on sandwiches as a kid, but it had a more complex taste.  Olive oil, a hint of garlic?  It was so delicious that we did order another plate and my 5 year old ate that for her meal.

French onion soup, good salads, beef dishes, pasta - everything that came to our table was good, but my meal?  Exquisite.  I thought that rabbit at Chez Lapin ought to be good, after all, it’s the namesake, so I ordered the Coelho Chez Lapin (rabbit cooked in a port wine sauce) and proved myself right.  Tender, flavorful, complex.  The sauce took on the body of the port wine without any excess sweetness and the rabbit practically fell off the bones. 

This was one of those food moments when you find yourself in such love with your meal that you try to ignore the pleading looks from your companions.  “If I don’t look up, may be I won’t have to be polite and offer a bite.”  To spare one bite of this is truly a gift.

The plates emptied and table cleared, it was time to take my little ones to the WC.  We followed the signs through an old stone gate and into the narrow alleyway facing the cozy indoor portion of Chez Lapin where a vast array of oddities covered the walls and ceiling.  There sat two stacked rabbit hutches.  The top one was empty.  The bottom held a very fat, very cute white rabbit.  A brief flash of my succulent lunch went through my mind.  Five minutes later we returned to our table looking back as we walked by.  The top hutch now held a long-haired grey rabbit and the white rabbit was gone.

Well, at least I know my lunch was fresh.

Caxton College is an International school and boarding school, so they offer everything from dentist appointments to haircuts, communion ceremonies to birthday parties.  Most of the parties that Elise has attended have been here at Caxton, so when asked where she'd like to have hers, the answer was simple.

It's really quite easy for the "mum."  Just call, arrange an available time, and show up.  One week ahead the invitations go out:  little Caxton party postcards with a sheet attached for the RSVP.  Parents fill out the forms with their child's name and class and the day before the party, the mum gets an email list of all the RSVPs so she is aware of numbers.  Mum does the math.  Winces.  There are drawbacks to having a popular child. 


Party day is here.  The school day ends and two young coordinators, easily in their early 20's, work together to pick up all the party attendees from their classrooms and take them directly to the large gymnasium above the cafeteria to play, color, and paint faces.

The mum is instructed to show up at 5.  When she shows up just before 5 with armloads of extras (which is so not normal), the cafeteria is silent and every child is upstairs playing in the gym.  Crazy mum hands out leis and hula skirts taking time to help the girls tie them on, then untie for a new color, then tie again...

It starts to rain and suddenly the gym is partitioned so that the tennis club can play.  The volume increases a hundredfold.  A boy hits a girl in the nose.  The coordinator does nothing.  The kitchen won't give this mum ice because it's the coordinator's job.  Mum goes to talk to the coordinators again.

There are two long rows of tables already set.  The one above is for the adults with coffee, milk, and a really delicious lemon pound cake that they always serve.  The bottom is set with nuts, chips, tuna sandwiches, ham sandwiches, coca cola and fanta.  At 5:40, the kids come downstairs to "merendar."  They eat like they haven't eaten in a year.


The birthday girl sits at the head of the table.   The kids eat, talk, then run off in small groups to play.  The sun has come out and tennis is over, so they play upstairs and outside and run pretty much wherever they want to.


Parents trickle in.  Mum spends her time greeting parents as they arrive and saying goodbye when they go and sometimes greeting again when they come back.  It takes a long time with a lot of kissing. 

The adults sit at the long tables.  Mum's friend, Elisa, brings a nice icy bucket of horchata to try and lemon granizado which mum loves.  Mum made tiramisu at Elisa's request that the parents hadn't previously tried.  Now Enrique serves up horchata and granizado de limon and becomes a "pusher" for the tiramisu.  Soon it's half gone and the Spanish parents love it.  Mum tries horchata.  It's slightly chalky and a bit too sweet, but not horrible.  She prefers the lemon to the local horchata, but half the parents drink it.  It's a Valencian thing - the "milk" of a plant here.  The parents continue to sit and talk and drink cafe solo.

6:42.  The children gather at the snack table for cake.  The chocolate cake is from the school.  Elise likes it, but her sisters don't, so mum makes cupcakes too which are a big hit with all the kids.  They light the candles.  Several boys "help" Elise blow them out.  They sing happy birthday in Spanish. 













6:45.  The candles are relit and they sing Happy Birthday in Spanish.

The party coordinators cut the cake while Elise's sister leads the group in Happy Birthday auf deutch.
Children mob Elise shoving gifts at her in all directions.  Mum never sees the chocolate cake or when the kids eat it.  The coordinators usher Elise to the other side of the room to a little chair.








6:47.  The guests form a line behind the birthday girl.  They each have their gift.  Elise opens them one by one, smiling, posing, and thankful.














As a gift is opened, the giver of the gift stays around to watch.  Some run off to play, but most stay around.









6:53  The mob around Elise gets so thick that mum can't get photos anymore.  It takes Elise just 12 minutes to open over 19 gifts.  Pablo brings her flowers.









7:08.  Elise pulls the string on the pinata and a bunch of candy and cheap toys fall out.  It's a mob scene of sugar hyped kids.









7:25.  The sun is out and all the children are playing a version of duck, duck goose except there's a cute little rhyme in Spanish about a shoe.  They are supposed to cover their eyes.  Elise peeks.




Elise gets picked and runs around the circle.  Then it's her turn with the shoe.

It's 7:28.  The weather is nice.  The adults are relaxed.  The kids are happy.  No one is in a rush to leave.

7:45.  A slow trickle begins.  One family says thank you and goodbye.  We hand out goody bags and tell them to keep the leis and skirts.

Elisa and Enrique help us gather out things together and go.  They are rewarded with what is left of the tiramisu.

8:30.  Home.

General Route:  Valencia Nord train station, down Calle Russafa to Avenida de la Reina, into the Turia, around the CAC, up the Turia to the bridge "Puente de la Exposicion," through Glorieta Park, down Calle de la Paz, around the Plaza de la Reina, and back to Valencia Nord.


Calle Ruzafa (Russafa) holds an eclectic mix of shops and artists, restaurants and interesting graffiti.  To be fair, interesting graffiti can be found everywhere in Valencia, but here in Ruzafa, it fits.  On Mondays, you can find a large outdoor market filling the streets around the Iglesia Parroquial.  Walk to the entrance of the church, then turn around and you'll find the indoor market building full of artistically displayed produce and racks of hanging pig legs - jamon serrano.   I stopped today to buy a meter of navy blue velcro for the girls skirts which my mother painstakingly sewn on for me.  The plump lady selling it to me was very friendly.  She has 7 grandchildren and oh, what a ruckus when they are all together.  "Caos," she said.  Oh, I can believe it.

The weather seems to have turned, or at least we hope.  After so much cold and rain, we need a little sun.  Oh, Weather, if you are reading this, I do emphasis the word "little."  The sun was shining.  The layers we wore pealing off quicker than we'd imagined.  I'd hoped that the lovely Turia gardens would shield us from the heat.  Large trees growing in a sunken riverbed ought to provide some solace, but any winds that blow flow right over the top, and leave the turia quite warm in spite of its shade.  We circled the CAC to see Calatrava's breathtaking masterpieces there observing some formal ceremony involving Ford that the mayor of Valencia and a slew of suited gentlemen attended with much pomp, security guards blocking access to the Hemispheric.   Made it back into the shade if not the cool and hurried a bit towards the bridge near Glorieta Park, the Puente de la Exposicion.

Starving.  The cafe on the corner had a "Cafe Valiente" sign.  Like Bitburger in Germany, the beverage signs for this well known coffee company are displayed so much bigger than the name of the actual establishment that it's hard to know where you're at.  The placard said "4 Euros Portion Paella o Bolognese."  We each ordered a coffee, a water (we were simply dying of heat), and a small pastry to tide us over.  I hadn't even reached my seat when a stout man carrying a 3' pan of steaming fresh paella walked in and set it down.  Pout.  Oh?  Can we change our order?  Sigh.  So, now I know.  Show up just before 1 and you can have the first delicious portion of paella.  A few minutes later, the bolognese came out of the oven.  A lady walked in behind us, plunked down her measly 4+ Euros and walked out with a enormous portion of this local rice dish and a beer.  She apparently didn't notice us salivating as we watched her from the window while she sat with her book.

Glorieta park is the mid or end point of many parades because of its location at the end of two main roads, one that leads to the main train station, and the other that leads to the Cathedral.  It's not a large park, especially next to the Turia, but the small green triangle is a nice quiet spot in the bustle of crisscrossing streets.  In this park of pathways and benches are two absolutely enormous trees.  Baby varieties of these line Calle de Colon in some places, stringy roots hanging down from their branches with the idea of someday taking hold and thickening into a sturdy trunk.  There, they are pruned and kept small.  Here, you can see where many individual strands have taken root and come together to form the thick trunk that now supports a vast canopy of leaves and branches.  It's a tree of storybooks and day dreams.  To read under it, to climb it, to listen to its history would be delightful.

Today, under this tree, sat a bench.  And on that bench sat a nicely dressed, clean-shaven man with white hair.  He watched me stare at the trees.  I asked him what they were.  He didn't know, but that got him talking.  "An American," he smiles when he hears my nationality.  He's traveled to the US and told me how much he loves my country and how disgusted he is with his president, Zapatero.  He's traveled to the Caribbean and Florida as well as Europe.  He's sung on ships.  He's been on TV.  He learned to speak English, but doesn't use it now.  He didn't use it today.  We talked fairly freely in Spanish and that was nice.  "Como se llama?"  "Antonio."  Tony.  "Like Tony Bennet", he says.  He sings like Tony too.  I told him it would be nice to hear him sing.  He says to come back to Glorieta park.  He'll be there.

On Calle de Paz there's a really nice Starbucks with a covered "outdoor" patio right there on this busy street.  It's like drinking coffee in your living room though - peaceful and somewhat quiet.  It was a good place to buy some beans and pick up souvenirs for mom.

On Calle de les Avellanes we saw rose petals from the day before when La Virgen de los Desamparados was paraded from the Basilica to the Cathedral in a sea of diligent onlookers who would try to touch her believing that she can help.

There's an outdoor market circling Plaza de la Reina with pottery and souvenir stuff.  It's going to be here all month.  I found a nice "gira de tortillas," a specialized ceramic plate for tortilla espanola that has a handle on the bottom that can also be used for a stand.  That way, you can flip your thick potato/egg pie onto the plate, then slide it back into the pan with ease.




At the Plaza Lope de Vega we found our lunch.  One restaurant is split there into "the restaurant proper" and the "quick eat stop".  The style differs though the kitchen is ultimately the same.  We opted for the proper food.  The maitre'd was charming, a common theme for restaurants that mom and I choose together.  After all, it's not the food that lures us in... but it is the food that lures us back and I suspect we'll be back.  To start, a mixed green salad topped with goat cheese.  Perfect.  I complimented our waitress who told me that they get the greens from local farmers fresh each day.  So, so delicious.  We each had a bit of wine - the second glass a light and fruity white from Marina Alta that I later found at my grocery store for 4 Euros/bottle.  Not sweet nor dry, it is the perfect balance to the intensity of the rosemary duck rice that we ordered.  Arriving in a steaming black pot which we shared, this is essentially a paella with broth, the same rice and basic flavors, but with a flavorful "caldo" that's perfect with a chunk of bread.   It didn't last long.  Our friendly waitress offered dessert.  "No thank you, we really have to hurry to the train."  "How about our sampler?  It's quick."  Arm twisting at it's finest.

No regrets.  Here is.  Splitting it is the perfect plan - so intensely flavored, neither of us felt that we were getting too little.  Mango ice cream, crema de Catalan, a fruit tarte, and some sort of yummy berry mousse in the center. 


Our view during lunch was really quite nice.  The Plaza Lope de Vega is just one narrow street from the Plaza de la Reina, a very busy tourist center, but it's surprisingly quite with just little groups passing through here and there.  Across from us is a large church that is rarely open, but quite beautiful.  The square is flat and open, perfect for a girl in a twirly dress or a little boy with a ball.  Fun for little dogs who lead their masters to who knows where.  No leash, just determination.  Fun for connoisseurs of ice cream like these for they can sit in the old covered windows of the church and relax there.  It's quite informal here in Valencia.  And so beautiful.  I'm been blessed with another Valencia day.

Enrique and Elisa are from a beautiful little village near Benidorm in the more beautiful southern part of the Valencian province and I have the pleasure of knowing them because our daughters are friends at school.  Today they came over to cook a paella for us and show us how it's done.  What an experience!  It was really fun to watch.  Like most American families, the art of BBQ is dominated by the men and quite frankly, I think most women (at least this one) is glad of this because it's one less area of the house for which we are ultimately responsible.  Let them grill!  Let's grill every night!  Means less dishes to clean.

In Spain the paella is cooked outside over a wood fire or on a specialized round grill and, like the US, it's done mostly by the men.  I remember our Spanish nights in Germany - men weren't allowed at our women's events, but they came to cook and serve the paella.   (Men are also responsible for cleaning the paella pan both before and after they use it, oiling it well to prevent rusting.)

Elisa told us how delicious her fideua are (a local noodle dish), but the paella... "Enrique does that."  The beautiful thing is, though, that while Enrique controlled the long handled spoons, the whole family was involved.  Elisa and her son ("little Enrique") prepared the vegetables and meats while Enrique prepared the paella pan.  Elisa stood there and visited with us, but also watched the paella and told him if she thought it needed a bit more salt or water or oil.  They made decisions together.  And little Enrique was the one who grabbed the morter and pestle to prepare the pate of garlic and rabbit liver. He was there the entire time watching, helping, and learning.  In about 20 years, it will be his job.


They are the ones that prepare the paella now when they go home for family events in Benidorm as well, but normally Elisa's mom is there to watch over the paella and tell them both if it needs more salt or a little more time.  This was the first time that they've ever cooked a paella without her mom standing there.  "But it's for American's," they joked to her mom, "they won't know the difference!"

We stood around our Spanish BBQ area talking while it cooked and little Enrique picked nísperos off of our tree.   I'd been too scared to try them.  He peeled the thin skin off of one with ease, broke it open to remove the two large brown seeds inside, then handed it to me.  Sweet, cool and watery, a bit tart - really refreshing.  A few minutes later and my girls were picking nísperos and eating them as quickly as they could peel them.


Such a nice day with friends.  For this, I'd cook paella every day.  It's not the dish itself (although this paella was absolutely delicious), it's the time spent together talking around the grill.  That relaxed "no stress" time that seems so hard to find these days.  I love it.  We served fruit salad and green salad with the paella.  Baked parmesan artichoke dip on baguettes for an appetizer.  Green Spanish olives.  American tortilla chips (because the kids love them).  Tiramisu for dessert which Elisa like so well that she says I must make it for Elise's birthday party in a couple days.  I will.

Dining on the patio.  Sitting, relaxing, talking, eating.  Sun and soothing nísperos.  The kids are off playing.  Life is good.


Tools:  (all significantly less expensive if you come to Spain to buy them!)

• 1 paella pan  (this is a nice gift set)
• 2 paella spoons 
• 1 paella grill

Ingredients:

• Vegetables:  Flat green beans, red bell peppers, zucchini, artichokes, carrots (any combination... we just used the beans and peppers)
• Broth
• Crushed tomatoes
• Short grain rice
• Garlic
• Salt
• Meats:  1 chicken, 1/2 rabbit, pork ribs

1:  Clean pan (obviously).  (photo 1:16pm)







2.  Heat pan, then add olive oil.  When the olive oil is heated, add the quartered red bell peppers and cook until slightly charred.  Remove them and set aside.  (photo 1:23pm)
3.  Put the meats into pan to brown - browned well - practically cooked through.  Salt the meat.  (photo 1:30pm)


4.  Remove the rabbit liver and mix it with two cloves of garlic and parsely with a morter and pestle.  Set aside.  (photo 1:38pm)










The meat will be browning well in the oil.   When it is brown like this, it's time to add the beans, then some crushed tomatoes.  (photo 1:42pm)



5.  Add green beans and other vegetables.  (photo 1:42pm)




6.  While the beans are mixed in, measure 1 demitasse cup of rice per person plus 1 for the pan.  That means, one more demitasse cup of rice than the number of people that you're serving.  (photo 1:44pm)
7.  When the beans are tender, add rice and stir well.  (photo 1:51pm)



8.  Add the rabbit liver mixture.  (photo 1:53pm)










 9.  Add water (about double the rice amount) and some chicken broth.  (photo 1:55pm)











10.  Add saffron or coloring and bring to a boil.  (photo 1:56pm)





11.  Boil and cook until the “caldo” is completely absorbed.  (photo 1:56pm)










Put peppers on top.  (photo 2:10pm)



Serve when the water has been completely absorbed into the rice.  (photo 2:27pm)

The traditional way to eat a paella is to gather around it each with a spoon and all eat from the same paella pan.  No plates needed.








Elise and Lola - the sweet little friendship that connected her parents with us and inspired another friendship and this delicious paella!