Before continuing, I first have to say that I was watching Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern on the Travel Channel (an extremely cool show but not for those with faint hearts or who gross out easily), and he was in Spain sharing some of its regional delicacies. I've eaten a fair number of the things he tried, including snails (not a big fan though my dad sucks them down by the dozen), jamón serrano, jamón ibérico (I think), and angulas (baby eels in oil with garlic and super tasty). I've also had lamb's brain (Baked lamb heads are somewhat of a delicacy and my abuela will sometime make them along with costillas y chuletas de cordero along with potatoes and onions al horno. Anyway, one time when we were very young, I was perhaps 12 or 13, my sister and I decided to try the brain. It's got an interesting flavor that we didn't like at the time though mayhaps I should give it another go. My mom said that the eyes were the best part. We were not that adventurous.) On the other hand, I have never had rabo de toro (bull's tail which my dad says is quite good though interesting) and criadillas (bull's testicles which I would probably try given the opportunity). Also, I've never had some of the specialty fish and seafood (I know fish is technically seafood, but in my mind they are separate entities, probably because in Spanish you have pescado/pescao and mariscos) that isn't easily gotten a hold of in a tiny Spanish pueblo. Anyway, I really brought this up to say that Andrew Zimmern's accent is atrocious. Look, I'm not expecting him to have a great or even good accent, but my Spanish 201 students had better accents than he did. It just made my skin crawl. Having watched plenty cooking type shows, I've found that with Spanish at least, this is a very common problem. Just a pet peeve of mine.
Anyway, back to the original point of the post, Why I am a Spew (pronounced as a combination of Spanish and Jew, Spew, not like projectile vomit. My best friend from high school gave me this nickname.). This is one of those “In the beginning” type stories. Anyway, the whole way my parents met was because my dad went to medical school in Spain.
My parents
My sister and my abuela
(I don't know where these pictures were taken or where I was, but obviously not there)
Now, you may ask, How did your dad end up in Spain for medical school? Now that's a good question, and the answer is that after not getting into medical school here in the States, he spent a year in Ireland as a medical lab researcher, then going to Spain for medical school/college revisited. I don't know if you know this but Spain has a very different sollge system than we do whereby you apply more or less to a professional program with a major already decided as opposed to drinking in dorms for a year while you figure out your major. Medical school is 6 years there, and it's a good thing it was set up this way because the first year, while they were learning stuff my dad already knew, he learned authentic de pueblo Spanish from his friend Antonio, who would go on to be my godfather (El padrino if you will). Anyway, my parents didn't meet until like 2 or three years into school; they never had classes together being that they were on opposite ends of the alphabet and thus in different sections. They met and somewhat set up through my mom's roommate at the time. To put my parent's time in school in historical perspective, their first year of school (1975), Franco (Conservative dictator) died, and, during their last year of school (1981), there was a coup d´tat.
The really funny story isn't so much how my parents met, since it's not particularly interesting, but rather how they got engaged. Traditionally, in Spain, on New Year's Eve, unlike here, you spend the coming of midnight with your family before going out. There's also an über fun grape tradition that I really like. Ask me about it sometime. So, my dad goes with Antonio (no picture, sorry) to do New Year's with my mom since my dad was in Spain and, well I don't know why Antonio was there, only that he was. So the clock strikes, and my dad, Antonio, and my mom are about to go out. Well, my abuelo for whatever reason, refuses to let me mom out. This of course caused quite a row but eventually, my dad and Antonio left and my mom stayed at home. As I'm told, my abuelos didn't quite comprehend that my dad was my mom's boyfriend of like 9 months but rather her bald, American friend. So...my mom at some point sneaks out of the house, finds my dad, and, simply wanting to get out of her parents' house, asks my dad if he wants to get married. My dad's response, and I quote: “I don't know. I'm a little drunk right now. Ask me again tomorrow.” Needless to say, they did get engaged, and, as the picture shows, have been happily married for 29 years now. 4 years into the marriage...out comes me. :) Everyone's favorite Spew.
Interesting anecdote: My birthday is February 25th. My due date was apparently February 23rd. However, my mom didn't want my birth date associated with a rather horrific event in Spanish history (the coup), so she prayed and even told me she would hold me in in order not to give birth on the 23rd. That didn't stop me for thinking for a couple years that my birthday was actually the 23rd due to my birthday being celebrated on that day when I was like 5.
The End.
Music listened to while writing this: Elliott Smith
My sister and my abuela
(I don't know where these pictures were taken or where I was, but obviously not there)Now, you may ask, How did your dad end up in Spain for medical school? Now that's a good question, and the answer is that after not getting into medical school here in the States, he spent a year in Ireland as a medical lab researcher, then going to Spain for medical school/college revisited. I don't know if you know this but Spain has a very different sollge system than we do whereby you apply more or less to a professional program with a major already decided as opposed to drinking in dorms for a year while you figure out your major. Medical school is 6 years there, and it's a good thing it was set up this way because the first year, while they were learning stuff my dad already knew, he learned authentic de pueblo Spanish from his friend Antonio, who would go on to be my godfather (El padrino if you will). Anyway, my parents didn't meet until like 2 or three years into school; they never had classes together being that they were on opposite ends of the alphabet and thus in different sections. They met and somewhat set up through my mom's roommate at the time. To put my parent's time in school in historical perspective, their first year of school (1975), Franco (Conservative dictator) died, and, during their last year of school (1981), there was a coup d´tat.
The really funny story isn't so much how my parents met, since it's not particularly interesting, but rather how they got engaged. Traditionally, in Spain, on New Year's Eve, unlike here, you spend the coming of midnight with your family before going out. There's also an über fun grape tradition that I really like. Ask me about it sometime. So, my dad goes with Antonio (no picture, sorry) to do New Year's with my mom since my dad was in Spain and, well I don't know why Antonio was there, only that he was. So the clock strikes, and my dad, Antonio, and my mom are about to go out. Well, my abuelo for whatever reason, refuses to let me mom out. This of course caused quite a row but eventually, my dad and Antonio left and my mom stayed at home. As I'm told, my abuelos didn't quite comprehend that my dad was my mom's boyfriend of like 9 months but rather her bald, American friend. So...my mom at some point sneaks out of the house, finds my dad, and, simply wanting to get out of her parents' house, asks my dad if he wants to get married. My dad's response, and I quote: “I don't know. I'm a little drunk right now. Ask me again tomorrow.” Needless to say, they did get engaged, and, as the picture shows, have been happily married for 29 years now. 4 years into the marriage...out comes me. :) Everyone's favorite Spew.
Interesting anecdote: My birthday is February 25th. My due date was apparently February 23rd. However, my mom didn't want my birth date associated with a rather horrific event in Spanish history (the coup), so she prayed and even told me she would hold me in in order not to give birth on the 23rd. That didn't stop me for thinking for a couple years that my birthday was actually the 23rd due to my birthday being celebrated on that day when I was like 5.
The End.
Music listened to while writing this: Elliott Smith
1 comment:
Hah - talk about differences in what American's might term "nasty (but tasty) cusine" between Spain and it's half-brother Argentina... In Argentina, they routinely grill and eat blood sausage (morcilla), kidneys (rinones), intestines (chinchulines) - you have to tie them into bows so that they don't go through the slits in the grill, and the absolute top delicacy - sweet breads (molleja), which are the pancreas I think. Mmmm, mmmmm. I should have grilled some of that in the Spanish House.
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