After about five days without olive oil in my little Spanish apartment (note: I am not responsible for groceries, I have paid the woman I live with for food already..) we finally got some olive oil! For those of you who don't know, it is practically a sin to be without olive oil in Europe. In fact, Caitlin told her host mom that I didn't have olive oil for three days and she was like "no olive oil! no eggs! poor girl!"... she just figured that olive oil, like eggs is essential and that we must not have either. Caitlin likened my predicament to being a baker without flour. Anyways, we got olive oil back in the house and my nerves were definitely calmed.
Last night I arrived home late and missed dinner, but my ration of bread was sitting out becoming hard as a rock, which Fina rightly noted. I was like "Don't worry, I'll eat it tomorrow" and she said "you will break a tooth on that bread". I just smiled and headed into my room, knowing that Fina would be gone alllll day today and I could stay in my pjs and not make my bed until I felt like it. (Don't worry, all of these random thoughts are about to join together...)
This morning I woke at approximately 7:30, however, laid in bed until 7:55 when I heard the door close and the tinkering of the locks in the front door. Fina has left the building (little fist pump). I hop out of bed and into the living room without making my bed or putting slippers on (slipper are essential in Spanish homes). I go into the kitchen and look at the bread from the night before, about a 1/4 of a baguette. I inspect it... hitting it a couple of times against the counter and of course, it is as hard as a rock. Ah ha! French toast time. Stale bread= perfect french toast. I take out a knife and begin to saw this baguette into slices. "Saw dust" and chips are flying all over the place. Keep in mind, Fina does not exactly like me to cook. In fact, she has never let me. I think she thinks I am just incapable of everything. I get out a pan and begin heating up some blessed olive oil, just oh so thankful for its return into the household. I grab an egg from the refrigerator and realize we are out of milk, go figure. Press on! I crack an egg... beat it up really good. Upon opening the spice cabinet I realize that this may be a little trickier without the right supplies. I usually like to make french toast with vanilla, cinnamon (sometimes nutmeg), a little maple syrup, sugar, milk, and eggs. Here is what I managed to find: cinnamon (unopened, but not for long), brown sugar, white sugar, and honey. Well close enough right? So I mix up my concoction and begin soaking the break in it. Perfect timing, the oil is ready. Cooked those bad boys up... sprinkled a little sugar on top for good measure and walaaaa! Wonderful breakfast and a little taste of home. I then opened the kitchen window, turned on the cooking fan and cleaned every single utensil, pan, bowl and plate the I used. The sweet smell of french toast still linger, but oh well!
My morning continued to be wonderful far beyond my hearty breakfast. I stayed in my pjs and unwashed. I brought my laptop into the living room and sat in FINA'S CHAIR (a greenish recliner that she spends all of her time in watching law and order or awful Spanish game shows in) watching first flipper and then Will and Grace in Spanish while writing my Spanish Civil War term paper. Don't worry mom, I DID get a lot of my paper done. I think the Spanish TV shows helped get my Spanish thoughts flowing or something.
It is only noon and my day has already shaped up to be a great success. Oh, also, I am going to a lunch party with some people from the Barcelona International Cooking Club. It should be delicious, however, I am concerned about the host... from his posts on couchsurfing.com he seems like he might be a little stuck up. Veremos!
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