I've accepted a position to teach again next year in the province of Cáceres, Extremadura, where I work now. With that said...
No one said following your gut was easy. Constant goodbyes are awful. Distance is awful. Tough decisions are awful. But so is forgoing an opportunity that will change your life out of fear that it will, in fact, change your life. Don't let your dreams be dreams, as they say.
My decision to stay will fray relationships and jeopardize career opportunities I could've taken. I'll waste money I should be saving and postpone the adulthood I should be planning for. I'll miss moments, birthdays and holidays with the people who are most important to me. I'll see cake-smeared nieces and nephews on Facebook and wonder if I should be home watching them evolve from infants to toddlers to schoolchildren. I'll see Husker tailgates and wonder if I should be connecting with old friends, rebuilding bonds naturally strained by distance. I'll see family photos and wonder if I should be sitting at my grandparents' kitchen table while I can. I'll think about my unworn wedding dress hanging in a closet and wonder if sacrificing a marriage to my very best friend in order to stay here was foresighted or careless. I'll wonder about regrets and everything that was but isn't anymore. And when I leave let again, there will be more tears and more hard-as-hell goodbyes.
I have very little to show for the last six years of my itinerant
existence. I have a college degree with honors and a hard-earned résumé
that don't necessarily apply to my current pursuit. I own almost nothing, I have
meager savings, and I can fold, stuff and Space Bag most of my life into 100 linear inches. What I do have is an email inbox and a blog full
of travel dispatches, a Paleolithic computer full of photos and a
memory full of characters and chapters.
I really hate "what ifs" and "could've beens," but there'd be no avoiding them next year in Nebraska or Spain. Anthony Bourdain (goodness, I really can't stop quoting him; the man's a machine) said, “[When I die], I will decidedly not be regretting missed opportunities
for a good time. My regrets will be more along the lines of a sad list
of people hurt, people let down, assets wasted and advantages
squandered.” So here's to another year of adventure, discovery, growth and independence in Europe. Here's to another year of being poor, lost and foreign. With that, The Nomad Chronicles continues...
Un saludo,
Teresa
Showing posts with label anthony bourdain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anthony bourdain. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
"Stuff I Eat" - Spanish morcilla
I don't intend to reference Anthony Bourdain -- the "celebrity chef/world traveler/pithy quote machine/professional wise ass," as I described him last time -- in every food post, but it's just inevitable in this one. The dude loves "black pudding" for reasons I never quite understood. Coagulated blood and lard stuffed into intestinal casings just didn't pique my appetite. Any food for which you can say "the fresher the blood, the better" scares me a bit.
Even so, for a long time, I was admittedly intrigued by Bourdain's affinity for a food that looks like a bloody stool. When in Spain, do as the Spaniards do. That's my motto, and I'm sticking to it. In my inaugural issue of "Stuff I Eat," I mentioned that I'd be willing to eat a "bulging, deep-red intestine casing stuffed with throwaway mammal parts" if the opportunity presented itself. I meant it as much as a figure of speech as a legitimate vow, but I soon found a bulging intestine on my plate.
Name: Morcilla de Guadalupe
Translation: Blood sausage, or "black pudding," from Guadalupe, Extremadura
So what is it exactly? Ingredients vary by country and region. As is obvious, blood is the star ingredient that gives the dish its off-putting name. Fillers can include barley, pork, beef, rice, onions, fat, cornmeal, chestnuts, potatoes, oatmeal or whatever else tickles the preparer's fancy, I suppose. I tried various kinds in Guadalupe, a small Extremaduran town that's famous for its blood sausage. One type had potatoes, I remember. But the one I'm featuring here is the most traditional; it had pig lard, cayenne pepper (or something of the sort to give it kick) and pig blood for sure. There may have been onions, garlic and cabbage, which are all typical ingredients, but I can't confirm that.
Where I ate it: At a small cafe near the monastery in Guadalupe, Extremadura
Before trying it, I was thinking...: "I've already eaten way too many typical-of-the-area sweets today, so if I'm going to pack my belly even more, this stuff better be dang good."
Texture: Very soft, even crumbly. Some people say "pudding-like," hence the name "black pudding," but from what I experienced, that's a misnomer. It's not creamy in the way I imagine pudding, but to each his own. Neither is it like the inside of a hotdog or typical sausage, which are more solid, less moist, and they don't fall apart in a dissolve-in-your-mouth kind of way, like morcilla does.
Taste: I'm not a food writer. I have no idea how to describe tastes and textures and presentation in an eloquent way that really conveys my experience. I can tell you what morcilla didn't taste like, though. It didn't taste like ground beef or pork; it didn't taste like sausage; it didn't taste like lard. It did have a strong flavor of cayenne pepper or whatever the spicy bit was. And given that there's blood in the sausage, it did have a hint of metallic-ness.
Verdict: Delicious and filling. It's not something that I could eat a lot of because it's got a unique flavor that could quickly become too much of a good thing. But given the chance to try it again, I wouldn't hesitate.
Even so, for a long time, I was admittedly intrigued by Bourdain's affinity for a food that looks like a bloody stool. When in Spain, do as the Spaniards do. That's my motto, and I'm sticking to it. In my inaugural issue of "Stuff I Eat," I mentioned that I'd be willing to eat a "bulging, deep-red intestine casing stuffed with throwaway mammal parts" if the opportunity presented itself. I meant it as much as a figure of speech as a legitimate vow, but I soon found a bulging intestine on my plate.
Name: Morcilla de Guadalupe
Translation: Blood sausage, or "black pudding," from Guadalupe, Extremadura
So what is it exactly? Ingredients vary by country and region. As is obvious, blood is the star ingredient that gives the dish its off-putting name. Fillers can include barley, pork, beef, rice, onions, fat, cornmeal, chestnuts, potatoes, oatmeal or whatever else tickles the preparer's fancy, I suppose. I tried various kinds in Guadalupe, a small Extremaduran town that's famous for its blood sausage. One type had potatoes, I remember. But the one I'm featuring here is the most traditional; it had pig lard, cayenne pepper (or something of the sort to give it kick) and pig blood for sure. There may have been onions, garlic and cabbage, which are all typical ingredients, but I can't confirm that.
Where I ate it: At a small cafe near the monastery in Guadalupe, Extremadura
Before trying it, I was thinking...: "I've already eaten way too many typical-of-the-area sweets today, so if I'm going to pack my belly even more, this stuff better be dang good."
Texture: Very soft, even crumbly. Some people say "pudding-like," hence the name "black pudding," but from what I experienced, that's a misnomer. It's not creamy in the way I imagine pudding, but to each his own. Neither is it like the inside of a hotdog or typical sausage, which are more solid, less moist, and they don't fall apart in a dissolve-in-your-mouth kind of way, like morcilla does.
Taste: I'm not a food writer. I have no idea how to describe tastes and textures and presentation in an eloquent way that really conveys my experience. I can tell you what morcilla didn't taste like, though. It didn't taste like ground beef or pork; it didn't taste like sausage; it didn't taste like lard. It did have a strong flavor of cayenne pepper or whatever the spicy bit was. And given that there's blood in the sausage, it did have a hint of metallic-ness.
Verdict: Delicious and filling. It's not something that I could eat a lot of because it's got a unique flavor that could quickly become too much of a good thing. But given the chance to try it again, I wouldn't hesitate.
 |
| Other types of morcilla de Guadalupe that I tried. I don't remember what the darker one was, but the orange one was blood, mashed potatoes and something spicy. |
Friday, March 22, 2013
"Stuff I Eat," the inaugural issue - Chipirones en su tinta con arroz
“Do we really want to travel in hermetically sealed popemobiles through
the rural provinces of France, Mexico and the Far East, eating only in
Hard Rock Cafes and McDonalds? Or do we want to eat without fear,
tearing into the local stew, the humble taqueria's mystery meat, the
sincerely offered gift of a lightly grilled fish head? I know what I
want. I want it all. I want to try everything once.”
There's no one wiser than celebrity chef/world traveler/pithy quote machine/professional wise ass Anthony Bourdain, at least when it comes to the profundity of food and travel. He'll go anywhere and eat anything, no matter how shady the establishment, how raw the meat, how undead the fare.
I'm no foodie, but a girl's gotta eat. So I'm embarking on a a food adventure of my own. It's a challenge that really isn't a challenge at all: to try something new every week and write about it.
That pathogen-laden bottom feeder? Give me a hearty sidedish and a nearby bathroom and I'll try it. That foul cheese whose mold is spawning grandchildren mold of its own? I'll try it. That bulging, deep-red intestine casing stuffed with throwaway mammal parts? I'll try it.
Hungry yet?
But seriously, considering I have no idea what half of the food is on any given menu regardless of where I travel, it shouldn't be too hard to dominate this challenge. Food and culture are intricately linked, especially in Spain, so I figure it's wise to flavor my experience a bit.
So here goes nothing: "Stuff I Eat," the inaugural issue.
Name: Chipirones en su tinta con arroz
Translation: European squid in ink with rice
So what is it exactly? It's squid - full-bodied or sliced into rings - served with rice in an ink sauce flavored with garlic, onion, peppers, tomatoes, fish/chicken stock, etc. The fixings vary by the preparer, of course.
Where I ate it: In Don Benito, Spain, at a restaurant called "Cerveceria Gambrinus."
Before trying it, I was thinking...: "It kind of looks like the squid pooped on my rice." Then I wondered, "Do squid poop?"
Texture: Rubbery, gummy, as you might imagine. But it's not like I had to chomp mightily to get it down. I've eaten seafood in the past that pretty much exhausted my jaw. Fortunately, this wasn't like that. As for the ink sauce, it had the consistency of regular gravy.
Taste: Not a lot of it. It was supposed to be rich in garlic and onion, but it lacked a kick. The squid bodies themselves, which inside contained their tentacles, didn't have any notable flavor, either. It was a bit lifeless...pun intended?
Verdict: This dish has potential, and I would try it again without hesitation somewhere along the coast, where the squid is fresh and the preparation is a bit more inspired.
Until next time...
Un saludo,
Teresa
There's no one wiser than celebrity chef/world traveler/pithy quote machine/professional wise ass Anthony Bourdain, at least when it comes to the profundity of food and travel. He'll go anywhere and eat anything, no matter how shady the establishment, how raw the meat, how undead the fare.
I'm no foodie, but a girl's gotta eat. So I'm embarking on a a food adventure of my own. It's a challenge that really isn't a challenge at all: to try something new every week and write about it.
That pathogen-laden bottom feeder? Give me a hearty sidedish and a nearby bathroom and I'll try it. That foul cheese whose mold is spawning grandchildren mold of its own? I'll try it. That bulging, deep-red intestine casing stuffed with throwaway mammal parts? I'll try it.
Hungry yet?
But seriously, considering I have no idea what half of the food is on any given menu regardless of where I travel, it shouldn't be too hard to dominate this challenge. Food and culture are intricately linked, especially in Spain, so I figure it's wise to flavor my experience a bit.
So here goes nothing: "Stuff I Eat," the inaugural issue.
 | |||||
| Source |
Translation: European squid in ink with rice
So what is it exactly? It's squid - full-bodied or sliced into rings - served with rice in an ink sauce flavored with garlic, onion, peppers, tomatoes, fish/chicken stock, etc. The fixings vary by the preparer, of course.
Where I ate it: In Don Benito, Spain, at a restaurant called "Cerveceria Gambrinus."
Before trying it, I was thinking...: "It kind of looks like the squid pooped on my rice." Then I wondered, "Do squid poop?"
Texture: Rubbery, gummy, as you might imagine. But it's not like I had to chomp mightily to get it down. I've eaten seafood in the past that pretty much exhausted my jaw. Fortunately, this wasn't like that. As for the ink sauce, it had the consistency of regular gravy.
Taste: Not a lot of it. It was supposed to be rich in garlic and onion, but it lacked a kick. The squid bodies themselves, which inside contained their tentacles, didn't have any notable flavor, either. It was a bit lifeless...pun intended?
Verdict: This dish has potential, and I would try it again without hesitation somewhere along the coast, where the squid is fresh and the preparation is a bit more inspired.
 |
| Source |
Until next time...
Un saludo,
Teresa
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