The questions are always there, lingering. They are questions you ask yourself. They are questions others ask of you. They are questions that go unanswered.
Are you staying?
When are you going?
Where, indeed, is home?
I miss peanut butter. This is the most common food question for many Americans who come to Spain: Where can I get my hands on some good old American-style peanut butter? Luckily, if you’re in Madrid, the answer is easy. Actually, most towns that have a Carrefour or Mercadona will have peanut butter. (Now whether it’s any good is up to you to decide.)
But there are many other foods we crave. As good as Spanish food is, I know I have a list of things I like to eat when I get home. I crave spice, Ranch dressing, cottage cheese, and mainly anything from Trader Joe’s. (Someone please bring a bottle of their Champagne Pear salad dressing, stat. Oh—and some trail mix.)
So how have all these cravings made me a better cook? Easy—necessity is the mother of invention. Or so they say.
What can the American expat make in Spain instead of traipsing from Taste of America to Al Campo to El Corte Inglés?
Mario called it The Zamoran Invasion. My friend’s Spanish husband referred to it as The Spanish Invasion. Whatever you want to call it, invasion or otherwise, it was definitely chaotic. But also fun. We showed our guests, my in-laws, quite a few places and events, all of which I’ll get around to discussing eventually, but for now I’d just like to list a few stray observations:
A Zamoran, invading
Mario and I will be having our stateside wedding reception today. (As I write this, it is Monday, and I am only slightly freaking out about all I have left to do.)
This time, it’ll be held at a small country club in my hometown in Indiana. I’m a Hoosier born and bred, and Mario knows (and loves!) this about me. I’m very excited to share our love and happiness with my friends and family this time, along with Mario’s parents and brother.
I suppose I’m very lucky to have another opportunity to celebrate meeting my half orange.