Rations/Raciones

Let’s turn back to gastronomic themes. As I’ve mentioned before, I eat very well here, but the Spanish diet leaves something to be desired: peanut butter. I could say that I have subsisted off of peanut butter and jelly for most of my life, but subsist is so basic and uninspiring--exactly the opposite of my zest for this remarkable sandwich. In Spain, peanut butter is hard to find and is very expensive compared to that at home. What’s more, the best brand I have seen here is Peter Pan. Unacceptable.

So, it is certainly a good thing that I squeezed two jars of peanut butter into my suitcases before leaving home. Two jars over the course of four months would not usually cut it for me, so I must ration the spread. I only eat it sometimes for breakfast. Now, I have enjoyed a lot of good bread here (topic for another post), but we sometimes run out before morning. Yesterday, though, I found half of a loaf in the cereal cupboard before heading to class. Win. After spreading some Jif onto half of my piece of bread, I thought that the other half looked rather bare. I took the initiative to snoop around my señora’s fridge, and sure enough, there was a jar of strawberry jam. Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to tell you all that I enjoyed my first pb&j in two weeks.

Right now some of you are probably feeling bad for me because the most exciting subject on which I can write two paragraphs is a mere sandwich, but be assured that my day ended with a more sundry dining experience. Because Charo was going out to the theater last night, Annie and I decided to hit up our neighborhood tapas bars. When dining at a tapas bar, you can usually order one of three plate sizes: tapas, media ración (half-ration), and ración, tapas being the smallest. Annie and I decided to get an assortment of tapas and media raciones in order to sample as much as possible.

Our first visit proved to be pretty disappointing because, though the food was good, the waiter ripped us off because he thought he could get away with fooling us Americans. Fool me once...It’s a shame because the papas fritas (papa=potato) tasted better than any French fries I have ever eaten.

Annie with our rather tasty little friends

Next, Annie and I moved on to La Cigala de Oro (a nice little play on “Siglo de Oro”), which one of my program’s guides had recommended to me. Our experience there was far better. The service was unbeatable, the shrimp and lobster were delicious, and we didn’t have to break the bank for any of it. At one point a waiter working behind the bar asked if we were French, to which Annie responded that we were not French but American. She proceeded to converse with him in French anyhow, which left me dumbfounded for a moment because I had no idea that Annie could speak French. Once I finally caught on to what was happening, we started talking with more of the staff, all of whom were amiable. Annie has been dubbed “la professora” because they thought that she spoke Spanish very well for an American. La Cigala de Oro is one of those places that makes you feel at home, even in a foreign country. I know that we will be back more than once while we are in Sevilla.