Get out of my head.

I can't wait for anything anymore.

I'm literally becoming impatient when it comes to everything in my life. That also includes the good, the bad and everything I am indifferent with. I'm not sure whether I'm reverting back to my childhood where I'm throwing temper tantrums but I'm literally on the brink of going completely insane. I know I keep saying this, but I'm getting closer and closer to that insanity being a real locked-down, padded room type of mental breakdown.

Right now, I blame part of my insanity on the fact that I'm getting on a plane in 2 days. I hate planes. We know this from previous posts, right? I'm not looking forward to 12 hours worth of plane rides, however, it will be worth it once it's done and over with. It will be nice to get away to a country that feels like home - one that I probably should be living in because it's so fantastic. I know the economy sucks and the job market does not exist for non-Spaniards (I will be applying for citizenship in the near future), but the food is great, the people are fun and plus I have great family there. Besides a Spanish-speaking vibrator, there's not much more I could want out of Spain.

The other reason I'm going insane is because I keep dreaming of things completely out of my reach that I have absolutely no control of. It's annoying when they're reoccurring and I don't even want to sleep at night because waking up in the morning is frustrating. I loathe frustration. I can deal with every emotion under the sun in one way or another, however, the only emotion I cannot deal with whatsoever is frustration because it's neither sad or happy, just indifference. And that, right there, pisses me off but I never get heated enough over it to just let it out in a crazy, hormonal rage. Again, frustration is exactly what it is: frustration. The best way to describe it is what I call the HARD RED DEATH (the female equivalent to blue balls). I have absolutely no way of curing said frustrations without dealing with the problems (or wanted 'problems') head-on. I should probably get on that. Soon, I hope.

Mother of FUCK.

I just realized I cannot go to Spain without enduring the torture of a 10 hour plane ride, followed by a connection that's another 2 hours.

I will be refilling my prescriptions for xanax this week.

I have 8 days to realize that plane rides are the key to happiness.

2 weeks and 6 days...

I'm going back to Spain.

I bought my tickets 4 weeks ago but apparently I've been too insane about going back to Spain that I haven't written about me going back to Spain. And no, that is not intended to make any sense at all.

Anyway, my sister and I are leaving on November 5th and we're spending 11 days running around like a couple of crazy drunks. I guess the only problem (not that this is a TRUE problem) is that I will be at the same hotel I was before, which is less than half a block in distance, while on the same block, as my cousin's apartment building... Which means I need to be on semi-decent behavior. Katie, however, can do whatever the Hell she wants and say whatever she wants because no one understands a drunk person's English - not even an English speaker can decipher what the Hell will come out of her mouth 30 beers under. So, I suppose that's the good news.

My cousins are picking me up from the airport and we're driving to their vacation home in Caceres, which from the pictures I cannot WAIT to be there. It was built by Romans in 25 BC, and still has a ton of the old Roman ruins and has a ton of Spanish palaces and forts. In other words, I will be enriching my brain and eyes in history and I'll be a happy camper from it. We will be there for a long weekend (Fri - Monday morning) and for the rest of the trip I'll be back in Madrid... which means the following: tapas bars. the prado. museo de la reina sofia. jamon bars. spanish beer on tap. more jamon. more jamon. more jamon.

Am I excited? Oh no, not at all.

Happy, Happy. Joy, Joy.

All I can say is that I'm about ready to pee myself for the next four months until I'm in Spain again. The fact that I will be with three people I love the most in life means the world to me - which also means there will be chaos all throughout our adventures in Spain.

I know that normally I'm a Hell of a lot more interesting in my posts but because I'm tired and lazy that means that all you're going to get out of me is that I'm stoked for Spain in August.

Sometimes you just gotta pat yourself on the back...

So apparently I have a shitty camera and it doesn't have enough pixels or whatever to pick up all the colors that I want to show. I'm also not very good at camera angles because when I look the picture of the soup I made I'm not like WOW THAT LOOKS AMAZING even though it did IRL. Well, whatever. I made carrot habanero soup which was fucking delicious in every single way, shape and form and it's probably going to be my new go-to soup for parties and such. So, I kicked the ass of River Lounge in London and I will now formally challenge them to a carrot soup throwdown. Don't worry River Lounge, I will come to you. I'll even pay for my own tix.

Boo-ya shaka.

I'm happy I didn't let my mind go into overload again with this soup. I had been thinking about it for way too long and if I would have waited another day to make it my mind probably would have exploded. That could have been messy and who really wants to clean that? Yuck.

Unfortunately for the people in my life that will never truly diet with me around, I have about 12814912849127 more dishes to try out. This time I'm actually WRITING DOWN MY DAMN RECIPES and I'm keeping them under lock and key and I'm determined to get my fucking book done. It seems to be taking a major turn towards the tapas direction but who knows. I think after my month in Spain I will do this summer and hopefully next winter I will be able to go to Cuba for a couple of weeks. I think the maximum stay for Cuban-Americans or Americans with family in Cuba is 2 weeks. So, that would be nice to be able to spend some time with family and really get to know Cuban culture for what it really is, not the washed out culture that I know. I want fresh mamey shakes, something I've never had. I've never seen mamey here in CA other than in frozen baggies but I've had it in FL before. Supposedly the mamey fruit grown in FL is horse caca compared to that in Cuba. I guess I will have to see for myself.

Munching.

My mind's been running wild with foodies I want to make tomorrow for dinner. Unfortunately, my mom bought China's entire March harvest of mussels earlier this evening which means I should make paella de mariscos but then I'm making something I've made a million times which is not inspired by my recent food adventure. I've been thinking about the carrot soup I had at River Lounge in St. Katherine's Docks in London - and how I can make my own variation of it. What it lacked was an over-all punch. It had bits and pieces of zing from a tiny bit of chopped up cilantro but not nearly enough over-all WOW factor. I'm thinking about jazzing it up with some roasted shallots for additional sweetness and some other ideas that are running through my head. I shouldn't give it all away before it's said, done and written down in my book, right? Right.

These. These right here. These puppies. They are a given. Papas Bravas and Salsa Brava. Done deal, set it stone. They are like a classic
Jackson song. Either it's done right or it's karaoke. I'm not fucking with these. Why ruin what's already perfect? Sometimes a chef/cook or whatever needs to know there are some things you fuck with - and some that you don't. I have been thinking about these mean and awesome little fuckers since my plate was empty and I was asking for more but I was told I had cosido waiting at my cousin's house for me to eat and other classic Spanish dishes so I unfortunately had to say no to plate number two.

Oh my mind, she is crazy. I should probably take a xanax and sleep for 14 hours then wake up and caca and go back to sleep. Since I need to get up in the morning and find a whole fresh cod fish to make baccalao I guess I can't live the druggie life... And I'm well aware that it's spelled bacalhau and it's referring to salted codfish but that was when Spaniards and Cubans were poor and used salted codfish. Now that there's such a thing as fedex overnight shipping so stupid Americans can make cod dishes from fresh cod.

blahblahblah whatever. be jealous.

Lagging from a jet.

It took me almost 2 weeks to get on European time and now Im going to suffer to try to get to American time. It seems like American time just sucks so much more. I feel like I'm turning into that pompous guy I briefly dated when Dom and I were on what I thought was permanent hiatus. Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy and all that jazz, but I reallllllllly do not deal with with someone who thinks they're always right. The only person who can be right all the time is me, but solely because I have a vagina. Not because I'm smart or anything, just because I possess a vagina. I can continue on with the reasons of why said guy was not good for me, but then it would take away the beauty of my post. So I'm turning into him in the sense of that I've been bitten by the travel bug. Europe. Europe. Europe. blah. blah. blah. blah. I guess the only difference between me and him is that I am posting it on the interwebz on my own private blog rather than being a bitch and shoving it up everyone's nose. Okay, maybe a little bit about the JAMON DE PATA NEGRA but with good reason.
That reason is that Jamon de pata negra (Iberico ham) was illegal in the US until 2005. It is now available in very limited quantities and very difficult to find. It is still illegal to import ANY kind of meat from ANYWHERE into this country without proper packaging and Dept. of Agriculture approval. Well, my cousins in Spain kept shoving chorizo and jamon de pata negra down my throat at every given opportunity which means I had to eat like, the whole time I was in Spain. I am surprised I could fit on the airplane.
Anyway, so my cousin sent me home with said jamon de pata negra, carefully packaged of course. I will admit that the whole time while going through customs I was a nervous wreck about getting caught and getting a $2500 fine, but it turns out people in Miami are lazy fags (literally, butt fucking fags that are possibly too lazy to butt fuck) and the beagles in the airport are just as fucking lazy because I not only got away with meat by the beagle that sniffed my luggage, but also by the people who are supposed to go through my luggage and make sure I'm not doing anything illegal. Next time I know I don't need to shove cocaine up my ass. So, I made it home with JAMON DE PATA NEGRA that my wonderful family gave me. Well, as it turns out, this shit sells for $96 dollars a pound. Yes, you read that correctly. $96.00 a pound. Which means that a whole jamon goes upwards $2000 and higher. What it also means that I have meat that you will not be eating because I am a spoiled bitch and I am going to eat it all and not share. What's also awesome is that because I have family in Spain that loves me, they're going to spend 200 Euro's and buy me a whole jamon de pata negra and switch the labels on it put a Serrano jamon label on it which is legal for export to the US by butcher shops. In exchange, I will be sending them Levi's 501's because apparently Levi's makes their money in Europe, because they charge 150 Euro per pair of jeans which I find completely insane.

This weekend I plan on opening up my notebook that I wrote in while eating everything I could, going through my notes and creating recipes on what I've eaten and how I can make these dishes in my own signature way. I've been inspired beyond belief and while I still have the tastes and feeling of yum in my head it's time to be creative and make other people fat while in the process of being creative. I've already given up on the fact that I will never, ever surpass Pizzaria Rustica in Lecco, Italy because they won second place in the world pizza finals. They must put crack in their pizza dough because their shit was addicting. It was the only place I ate at twice in my week in Italy. My second time was in the morning when the owner had all the fresh focaccia bread out... And of course it was pizza and focaccia heaven. I made friends with the owner and I told him I would write a review for him on FOODSPANK (please see my links for the blog) which I will do this weekend. Seriously, I want to work for him for a month for free to steal his techniques. I already told him that though so if he reads this, he won't be surprised that I am crazy that I want to work for him. He already thinks I'm crazy for wanting to move to Italy. But now I retract that statement and I want to move to Spain and if I have my way I will become a dual citizen of the US and Spain and buy a piece of land there and build on it as the years go by, then I will retire in Spain and live out the rest of my life eating jamon de pata negra. I might even be asked to be cremated with one.
Surprisingly, the thing that drove me the up the fucking wall in the best way ever were the fucking olives. Yes, you heard me, the fucking olives. I don't know what we're doing wrong here but US as a whole needs help when it comes to curing olives or finding good ones to import. The most insane olives I ate were from this Bristol Farms-like market just outside of Lecco, before driving into town, but a close second were the olives at Da Scapin in Verona, Italy. Unfortunately they didn't speak any English and I know enough Italian to just barely get by, so unfortunately I couldn't ask them questions about the curing process or where they get it or whatever, but those were also mind blowing. If I were to spend my time typing about the food and food alone, I will probably not sleep for 2 weeks straight because I could easily write a novel for each and every single thing that I ate.

Unfortunately I will need to sit tight until summer to experience the food orgasm that is Spain again. The food in London was both fabulous and terrible, the food in Italy was mind-blowing and the day I spent in St. Moritz, Switzerland I got to try a local meat only made in the area and this AMAZING barley soup with bits of speck but you know, Spain trumped all that is food heaven. So, I will bitch and whine until I get to spend a month in Spain (and Portugal and possibly Morocco) this summer. I should probably not attempt Morocco in summer because it'll be 1298731928731928471924719248712987 degrees but whatever. I am easily swayed by the thought of delicious Moroccan food.

Clearly, I am a fat person and I'll embrace that fact. Thank you.

Lost in translation.

You know, I have about 1294712471298457192857912875189275981275987 things to type about. I didn't spend a whole heck of a lot of time on the internet while in Italy or Spain, so I guess I have to make up for all of it. For now, I will leave you with a few photos from Madrid, Spain. Just know that I am planning on packing my shit and moving to Spain. I love Spain.