So there's this guy that I met at the Glorious Barcelona pub crawl which, don't worry, details soon to come. He was tall and thin. Not everyone's idea of handsome, but certainly had an "attractive factor" going for him. He had a short stubble of hair on his head with a beard to match. He reminded me like a lot of the guys from Charleston; once they take their hat off: Fun's over. Of course, he no longer paralleled Charleston once he opened his mouth. Not only was the southern draw absent, but his voice was like a sweet nectar, even in English. He had gray blue eyes and lived a 16 minute walk from my host family in Barcelona. At the crawl, I didn't think our conversation would amount to anything, but in drunken excitement, I gave him my WhatsApp number so we could hang out since we were in the same neighborhood essentially. Well, once texting commenced, he invited me to meet him and some friends at this night light show downtown. I was the only girl in a circle of 5 dudes and was loving it. No one in the group's first language is English and I happily submerged myself into the culture buffet. There was an Indian, a Ecuadorian, a Spaniard, and two Argentinians. Our eyes feasted on all the lights and even some of the food trucks. We all got a couple cervezas (beer is one of the 7 Spanish words I know. Surprised? Yeah, me neither). Everyone started to head home 2 by 2, and alas, Mr. Sangria Sips was left. "Hey, catch the bus, no?" "Si! Ohmygosh I can't believe it's already 11:45!" Smiling he said, "and we both wake early. " He gestured to the direction of the bus stop and completely opened up the 30 minutes home. Of course we talked about politics(Europeans love that. *rolls eyes*). I learned he's not into old fashion and believes a city shouldn't always have to buy the meal. His motive for this may be attributed to his last relationship. He revealed a girl from Chile that's an hour away and she would always come see her and pay for all the dates. He knew she enjoyed spending time with him but he was pretty sure she just wanted a green card marriage. Of course they don't call a green card marriage is over here. I don't remember what he called it. It was very Spanish LOL I know, I'm catching on fast. We talked a little bit about music and then a lot about traveling and future plans. Neither one of us had it figured out. That was okay. He revealed He's 33 and guessed I was 26. Like them already. He did though reveal better without my glasses. I don't understand what is up with Europeans and saying that. This is European number four that has said this. Come to think of it, the other guys agreed when we were all at the light show. Well I need these to see, so thanks for that! Way to boost my self-esteem, Europeans! After parting days from the bus that night, we continued texting until 3 am. He scheduled a date at a neighborhood bar later that week. Ofcourse the night of the date, dinner wasn't on time. This actually wasn't fault of my own, the mom just said she wasn't ready yet. And then they have a friend over, so had to wait until her plate was done and I could put everything just watching everything. Remember, being the help requires all kinds of patients in tasks to keep up your free room and board. After spraying a bit of body spray and adding lipstick, I slipped on my boots and headed down to the neighborhood bar. I was so late that the kitchen closed. So, what's a sensible thing for Stephanie to do? Order a pitcher of sangria. I mean, come on; it's fully equipped with fruit! "Oh I'm just going to have another beer," he said. "That's great. I'm getting this for me then," I said smiling. His eyes go to the the size of cantaloupes. You can't drink that whole thing. Oh how he should not have said that! After diving into my dinner, the waiter addressed me and looking dumbfounded, and all together dumb, my date stepped in to translate. Apparently, he wanted to know if the drink was yoo sweet and if he should add more alcohol. I'm sorry- who in their right mind would decline that?! After he topped the pitcher off, my date poured himself a glass. The conversation bounced from topic to topic and I began to feel very warm. Biting into an orange peel, I laughed at his joke. I think it was a joke. Thank God I was walking. After closing the bar down (it closed at 12 because it was simply a neighborhood one and not in the thriving city, we walked to the counter to close out. He had me pay for the tab and he gave me cash for his meal. Yet he drank some (no clue how many glasses) of my sangria and I paid for the whole thing. Dudeeee. He warned me he was like that but I thought at least on the first date he would want.... I don't know. But the part that got me was he kept chatting me the next day and begged me to come to his flat to have two beers that he has in his fridge. Obviously I'd only get one. And it's like 18 minute walk. Anything after 10:30 is work for the dirty So, I stayed home and wrote off ankther guy. Different country, different guy, same ending.
0 Comments
Escape Route Destination: Barcelona Transportation: Fast Train purchased by the new host father Departure: 10:30 Monday morning Arrival: 1:50 Monday afternoon Current contract ends: March 8th Today's date: Sunday February 10th Breaking the contract: now Wish me: luck So, I've pretty much quit every job I've ever had and have broken up with or broken things off with probably 60% of my relationships (including friendships), but I've yet to break up with a family I'm living with in another country. I brainstormed some ideas and these were my top 2:I couldn't find any sticky notes, and even if I did, I'm sure the mom's voice would call out "It's for the kids!"I couldn't find a Spanish translation card. I felt it's bad enough I'm leaving, now I'm going to make them read it in a language they're still trying to learn?Unfortunately, it has to be an American number for the app to send the message....So, since none of my top three break-up plans panned out, I spent the afternoon in Madrid at a market. Slept until 7pm church, and then after church, I asked the dad if he could talk. Yeah, it felt like a break-up. "Hey, do you have a minute I can talk to you about something?" His response reinforced my rationale for what I was about to do. "Si. Later." Okay, bro, I thought. So, when he finally did come up stairs to hear me out, I said..... in bullet points so you just get the facts, since I'm not always verbatim, especially with words I have said.
Anddddddd I think that was the jest of it. He sat there with a slate expression and then agreed with me.... and didn't expect me to stay the whole of it wasn't gonna work! He said not everyone at his job gets along with everyone and no one knows why..... but that's how it is. He took NO responsibility for not even addressing the concerns I had informed him of weeks ago. He was very apathetic, but at least he didn't kick me out my last night. I helped the oldest with a project that night, joked with the two youngest, and retrieved my luggage from their garage ( it isn't allowed in the house, I didn't care. I'm leaving anyway)! Then, Monday morning, I bid them fairwell and pushed my heavy rolling suitcase out their front door and closed the gate behind me for the last time. OH WAIT! I went back to their house because I forgot the ball of mozzarella I bought and had in there fridge. I'll be damned if they eat the food I bought when they starved me the duration of my stay. On my train ride to freedom, I sure did break open that mozzarella and paired it with some crackers I snuck from the back of one of their cabinets. Best lunch i had in the 3 1/2 weeks I was with them! Could NOT have said it better myself, George Bailey!Meanwhile, back in the States....... My guy friend that I became really good friends with, before I left for the Spanish Adventure, began talking to this girl right before I left. We became such good friends because he let me stay with him for all of three weeks. And it was just a big hangout fest. Whenever either of us was off of work, we were just kicking it and talk about bad dates and, grunge music, Spain. It was awesome. I even got to meet one of the girls he was talking to and I possibly sabotaged it. Not on purpose, just because sometimes I don't know how to shut my mouth. And he hadn't told her that I was staying there because he said after one date it's none of her business and I let the cat out of the bag because I was talking about dinner that I made one night or cookies that were going to be there tomorrow or something like that. You know, always surrounding food. Well, the latest and greatest girl he's talking to is someone he's taking it very slow with. Someone that he really likes and is tired of getting screwed over. Because of all the girls before, he feels a little anxious about if things are about to turn sour, because he never sees it coming., thus far, they've had two months of late night phone calls and dates at the pace of turtles on tightropes. Sure, he would love to go faster, but he wants to respect her. And he's a stand-up guy. No chairs involved. Well after one of our many conversations minding the time zone difference, he informed me that not only are they doing well, but he's giving his blood for her. I sat "puzzled till my puzzler was sore." Sure, I've been able to get dinner, drinks, entertainment, evening admittance to Disney but. I've NEVER had a guy give blood for me. That's dedication; thus proving good guys exist. Forget finding a guy that gets the door for you, you need a guy that will come to a blood drive just to spend time with you+A day trip to Barcelona and lunch with a friend from Cake Club changed everything.After a night babysitting for the family outside of Madrid I was enduring, I woke up bright and early Saturday morning and headed to the airport for my 23 hour trip in Barcelona. After making my second connection by train, panic consumed me when I realized I didn't have my passport in my bag. I wasn't thinking! Just because I'm leaving one Spanish city for another doesn't mean my passport is no longer required! AHH! I did the only thing I could, I flipped a table. Just kidding. There was no table on this train. I called the father of this family and begged an pleaded for him to possibly bring it to me. After a little hesitation, he agreed and dug through all of my stuff in my closet to find it. My directions were (I thought) clear of where it was to retrieve it, but alas, he found my hoarded snacks, half-empty bottle of sangria, and shreds of my dignity. I say half-empty, not because I am a pessimist, but simply because I had a rough night the day prior. hehe. So, while I was here for one day, I told a friend (I know from cake club in Dallas) how horrible of a situation I was in over carne tacos. Yes, I was in a cake club where we met once a month where we baked a cake monthly according to a theme. So, thanks to Facebook, this particular cake club member and I kept up when I moved to Charleston (from DFW) and she moved to Barcelona. On my 20 hour trip to Barcelona, I started my trip at her lovely home to catch up. Yes, I booked a flight landing in Barcelona at 1pm on Saturday and leaving 9am on Sunday. Hey, train prices were outrageous, my acquaintance and I were going out dancing anyway, and now, no hostel! So, along my fast-track through Barcelona. I unpacked my horror story from my "home" in Madrid. Obviously, there are so many things wrong with that sentence, but I just can't go there anymore. In awe that someone could treat someone "as sweet as me" like that, she said she knew families in Barcelona needing an aupair and would text them after our lunch, which she treated :))) After giving me a bus pass, I headed out to the city to play tourist for the hours I had left. One mom messaged me minutes after leaving my cake club friend. After sending her my aupair profile, she requested an interview; so I took a metro to their house. I met them and had a 2 1/2 hour interview!! This family speaks English and wants me to cook for them, bring the kids to activities/school, and help with homework and weekend babysitting. I felt like Aladdin probably did when he accidentally rubbed genie's lamp. I I sure have never had a friend like my cake club gal! This Barcelona mom even made a joke that I get my own towel and wash rag and sheets. Not only would I be physically and mentally in a better situation, but emotionally too! Now I'll have connections because I have the acquaintance from high school I'm going dancing with and an adult friend from cake club that both live here in Barcelona. My genie wasn't blue and voiced by Robin Williams.... she looked a little something like this:I found it only suiting to share one of the cake recipes she made for cake club that was one of my favorites OF ALL TIME. It was actually, dare I say, magical.Like friendships in life, this cake has many intricate parts and layers, but make up a delectable treat to help you through life.
Yields three 6” cakes 1/2 cup brown butter, room temp Leslie re-hardens the melted brown butter in the fridge, then whips it for the recipe 1 cup sugar 1/3 cup light brown sugar, packed 2 eggs 2 yolks 1/4 cup grapeseed oil 1 teaspoon vanilla 1 1/4 cup flour 1/2 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1/2 cup milk Grease and line three 6” cake pans and preheat the oven to 350F. Combine the flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon in a bowl and whisk them all together. Set the bowl aside. Using a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, cream the brown butter, sugar and brown sugar until they are light and fluffy. Slowly stream in the eggs, yolks, oil and vanilla. Mix on medium speed until the wet ingredients have fully emulsified, stopping to scrape down sides from time to time. Add the milk and dry ingredients alternately, beginning and ending with the dry ingredients, scraping down sides between each addition. Mix on low until the final dry ingredient addition is fully incorporated. Divide the batter evenly between the three 6” cake pans and bake them at 350F for 20-25 mins or until they just start to get golden brown around the edges. Remove the cakes from their pans and let them cool completely before them using to assemble the CHURRO CAAAAAAAAKE. Alternately — store the cakes in the freezer, well wrapped for up to a month until ready to use. 2 cups pecans 1/2 cup maple syrup 1 teaspoon kosher salt scant 1/8 teaspoon cayenne 1 1/2 cups valrhona white chocolate, coarsely chopped 1/3 cup light corn syrup 1 ¼ teapsoon white (shiro) miso 1 teaspoon kosher salt 2 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon light brown sugar 1 1/3 cups heavy cream Preheat the oven to 300F. Throw the first 4 ingredients into a medium-sized bowl, and toss thoroughly. Transfer to a parchment-lined baking sheet and roast for about 15 minutes. Halfway through the baking process, pull out the sheet and stir everything around. You’re looking for the nuts to turn dark without being burnt. The darker the nut, the better the flavor: mahogany is the color you want. Remove the nuts from the oven and let them cool for 5 minutes, then grind them in a food processor until they break down into butter – this takes several minutes. You should have about 1 cup of Praline butter. Put this amount in a medium mixing bowl and set aside. Combine 1 cup of white chocolate with the rest of the ingredients—except the heavy cream—in a small saucepan. Heat over medium-low heat, stirring constantly with a heatproof spatula. Once the chocolate melts, turn the heat up to medium and continue to cook, stirring constantly, to caramelize the white chocolate. Once the mixture becomes a shade darker than shiro miso, remove it from the heat and slowly whisk in the heavy cream and unmelted white chocolate. If it seizes or doesn’t fully homogenize, then put it back on the stove top and heat it on low, whisking constantly. While the chocolate mixture is still warm, marry it with the pecan butter and store in an airtight container in the refrigerator overnight. 6 ounces european style butter, room temperature 2 cups powdered sugar 2 tablespoon heavy cream 1/2 teaspoon vanilla 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 2 1/2 ounces bittersweet chocolate, melted, then cooled 2 1/2 ounces white chocolate, melted, then cooled 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt Using a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, cream the butter on high speed until it’s light, fluffy and totally smooth with no lumps. Scrape down the sides of the bowl several times during this process and quadruple check there aren’t any lumps of butter before you move on to the next step. Add powdered sugar ½ cup at a time and mix on low until combined and all the powdered sugar is incorporated into the frosting. Add the vanilla, cinnamon and salt and mix until combined. Scrape down sides and give the frosting another go-round in the mixer on medium speed. Stream in both of the melted chocolates with the mixer on low and continue mixing until they are both fully combined and no streaks remain. Use the frosting immediately to assemble the churro cake, or store in the refrigerator for up to a week (or one month in the freezer). If storing, return the frosting to room temp and loosen it in the stand mixer before using. 2 cups sugar 2 tablespoons ground cinnamon 1 tablespoon kosher salt 1 cup milk 2 ounces european style butter (1/2 stick) 2 teaspoons sugar 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 cup all purpose flour 4 eggs 4 cups canola oil Preheat the oven to 250F Mix the first cinnamon and sugar measurement together in a medium bowl and set aside. Add the milk, butter, sugar and salt to a medium saucepan and bring it to a boil over medium high heat. Dump the flour into the milk and stir it vigorously without stopping with a sturdy wooden spoon for one minute to cook the flour. The batter will be really thick and you’ll use some muscles stirring it. Transfer the mixture to stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment and let it cool for 5 minutes. Turn the mixer on medium speed and add the eggs one at a time. Let each egg fully incorporate before adding the next one. Meanwhile, pour four cups of oil into a 1.5 quart saucepan and heat it to 350F Transfer the batter to a piping bag with a star-tip (we like using a medium closed tip) and pipe the batter into the oil, cutting it with scissors every 2 inches so perfect churros drop into the oil. Fry all of the batter 6 at a time until they are deep golden brown. Use a slotted spoon to remove the churros from the oil and put them onto a paper towel-lined pan. Let them cool for a minute, then toss them into the bowl with the cinnamon sugar and coat them. You are going to use some of these churros to decorate the finished cake and the rest to make the churro crunchies that go inside the cake. To do this, take some of the churros and break them up in to pieces about the size of grapes. You will need 2 cups-worth of broken up churro bits. Set the remaining churros aside to decorate the cake. In a medium bowl, toss the broken up churros with ⅓ cup of the cinnamon sugar mixture, reserving the leftover mixture to coat the sides of the assembled cake. Spread the churro bits onto a parchment lined baking sheet and bake for 25 minutes, until they are crunchy, deep golden brown and caramelized. Let the snaps cool completely before using them to assemble the churro cake. https://www.thekitchykitchen.com/?recipes=/churro-cake/ Distraught from my current living environment, I reached out to a Facebook group of current aupairs in Madrid to validate some of my frustrations. I found one girl that was an aupair years ago and stated her Spanish mom was similar; deflated, I almost accepted my chosen fate. Then, I received a response from a girl named Nora who set me straight. "They're doing what?! They're restricting food? Are you even a person in their eyes? And the kids are just following in the parents' footsteps. And what's the deal with the dog-- you're not a dog walker!! This is supposed to be a mutually beneficial experience where you are able to live comfortably in another country and travel during the week sometimes and always weekends and they are able to have assistance with care and an English teacher. You aren't supposed to exceed 6 hours a day. MAX. I get that allowance weekly for ONE KID; they're taking full advantage. Leave. LEAVE!" She requested to meet up and we enjoyed allegedly the best churros in Madrid and devised a plan. So, after learning that my experience was a sad excuse for an aupair arrangement, we brainstormed plans and I began devising a plan to leave. I've had plenty of experience with the leaving, so here's another situation this applies. I don't run from everything, but when I get a gut feeling that it isn't going to be mutually beneficial for both parties for very long, I begin evacuating. Competition can be a negative quality, but in this respect, I think it's fairly positive, even though leaving is never easy. This less than preferable situation with this Spanish family illuminated my dependability upon those I love most in this world: my friends. This poem is dedicated to my mom, Lauren, Tiffany, Danny, Emily, Sloan, Michelle, and Corey. Oh what a relief is a person called friend.
Absolving uncertainty with laughter And then, carrying you through rubble and thorns; Not solely today, but the past when it mourns. Humbly appreciating the unattainable things, Sunshine through snowflakes, summers, and springs. Mishaps, mistakes, and knee-scraped downfalls. Hysterical vibrato through messages and calls. Encouragement for kilometers and beyond. Vibrant connection even when gone. Smiles for simplicity others wouldn’t think twice. Friendship enhances life with unmistakable spice. Forever blessed are the ones alive with its zest. Nestle here is where life’s strife can rest. Concealed in comfort, courageous in thy arms. Together, shield the other from unimaginable harm. Battling heartbreak, devastation, stress, and loneliness; Friendship is the opportunity above all not to miss. There have been a depravity in juicy dating stories because I've been too busy surviving. Think I'm kidding?Remember my encouraging post about making the most of what you have? [10 days ago...go check it out;)] Well, that's not a full-proof plan; it's simply taking the high road. When that plan doesn't work, one needs to devise a plan to Jump Ship! Forget Jack, let go.So, it's about time to share my first aupair experience: atrocious, awful, astonishing just to give you a taste. These are my confessions.... "just when I thought all I can say..." #usherbabyI signed up to be an aupair in Madrid, Spain for a family of 5 whom I interviewed via Skype and was awarded the 2 1/2 month position on camera. The dad informed me their village was 20 minute train ride from Madrid and I would have my own room and bathroom on the third floor of their home, which doubles as their playroom. No cleaning is necessary since the primary goal is familiarizing the kids with English and babysitting occasionally one night on a weekend or two. Outlined in the aupair program is that aupairs are not to exceed 6 hours of work a day unless an emergency. FYI. I maintained contact with the family for the months leading up to the position's start date and I reached out to everyone on the list of references of previous aupairs. One of which was their current aupair and some of the others (that responded) said they had worked with the family a couple years ago. The overwhelming conclusion was: the mother is very strict and you must be "tidy" but, they are a great family. When I arrived, the dad was eager to practice his English with me and continuously had to remind me to slow down with my speech. This isn't an abnormal request from practically anyone that converses with me at one point or another. If the Tasmanian Devil could talk, I would be a primary example of it. I was introduced to the children, whom were all off to bed and then I was introduced to the rules. They seemed standard until the mother put her input in.
I was slightly confused why all the visible food was restricted for my consumption when this was part of our agreement: room and board and equivalent to 60 US Dollars a week. A WEEK for teaching three children English, wake (these kids are NOT morning people), feed, assist, and bring them and their puny dog to school, then pick them up and take them to various activities, walk the dog two more times, fold laundry, do the dishes daily, homework, and coax them to bed every night at approximately 10:45. I inquired, for clarity, what food I was allowed to eat. Ramen noodles (which I didn't even eat in college), rice, sandwiches with turkey and cheese, cereal, homemade yogurt the dad makes, and what they were having for dinner that night. Two days later, the mom retracted cereal from the list because "it's for the kids." ThI began voicing my concerns to my loved ones back home and the consensus was, I'm really strong and basically, I can do it. They started to find it kind of humorous the dinners we would be served: artichoke (no sauce, no meat, no bread- just 2 artichokes) or collard greens with two dime size pieces of ham. Tuna stuffed into a hard boiled egg or beet soup with boiled fish rounds. Yes, fish (God knows what kind) cut/shaped/morphed into round disks and boiled in water and plopped onto a plate. The youngest told me I couldn't eat the yogurt because it's for *proceeded to list everyone in the house but me* and I said that's one thing your dad actually said I could eat. I live here and I need to be able to eat too. How tragic is it that his parents are training him to treat people like this. I began to feel like "the help" and almost less of a human being. Then, I got reprimanded for using the wrong small towel as a wash rag. and she said "you can buy you." In disbelief that in a room and board situation, where I'm already not being substantially fed, that I was being asked, or told rather, to dip into my 16 euros a day (m-f) I said, "Um I have to spend some of the very little money I have on something to clean myself that should be part of living here? I don't have towels or anything." "You can *gestures washing with your hands* "I need to maintain my hygiene in order to take care of your kids. I didn't bring a towel or sheets or anything." But then I had to reword that sentence since she didn't understand. Who tells their guest that's caring for their kids that they have to buy their own wash rag when u folded wash rags of her's YESTERDAY?! "I'll see what I can find." Meanwhile, the downstairs bathroom has a BASKET of facecloths. I was enduring but not enjoying living in Spain. I worked for the weekend just like in the states and went to Madrid when time permitted but, the advertised "20 minute train ride" came with strings attached. This train ride is a fast train that goes about 90 mph so the actual drive time distance from their village to Madrid is 45-50 minutes. OH! And the walk to train station from their doorstep was 25 minutes (23 if you walk like you have ants in your pants). I bought some edibles, no not pot, and cooked some of them in the oven with one of the only oven dishes I could find. I washed it thoroughly after but it still smelled a little like food, so I put it in the dishwasher. Big mistake. HUGE. The mom grilled me when she opened this dishwasher later that night for what I cooked in it and why did I use the oven. "Oven, you can't."
I tried to stand my ground because I have no desire to eat every lunch out of the microwave; not to mention, I was trying to harness the poquito (little- see! I'm picking up the language of the land) power I did have. "No. Sorry, no," was all she could articulate in English. Turning, tears leaked from my tear ducts like a neglected faucet. Quickly, I swiped them away, but the oldest had already seen me. He spoke a sentence in Spanish to his mom and she didn't respond. I continued to help him with his project as his siblings were annoyed that I denied their request to play with them in MY ROOM. Remember, the third floor is my room and the playroom wrapped into one perfect little package. My bed is conveniently folded into the couch, complete with springs galore. . . . Trying to be respectful of their culture and their home, I continued to play by their obscene rules. I went to bed hungry every night and joked with my friends about the airplane cookies I ate in my closet and the bottle of sangria I bought at the corner store, strategically hidden in between my jacket and bottle of hairspray. The kids offered very little respect and were fairly defiant in speaking English with me when the parents weren't around. During one of my pleading sessions with them, the youngest snapped that "I'm always on my mobile" which is a bold, italics, and underlined lie. The oldest tried to guess my screensaver code one too many times and locked me out weeks ago, so I left my phone in my purse when around the kids. This infuriated me that the youngest accused me of this because this would only be ammunition for the mom. I corrected him, but I'm sure it did no good. The backlash from the mother rained like Seattle. The dad was very conscious of energy used-- hence the dish and clothes washers must be full before running, the lights should be off, regardless if the new worker in your home is walking down the 3 flights of stairs, soap should be watered down to last longer, and coffee is made every other day so you can warm up the left overs on the opposing day. To comply with this request, I kept the colorful mug (1 of 10 or so unique mugs) I used for my coffee as my water cup for the rest of the day. I refilled it all day. The mom inquired who used that mug and then informed me that I could ONLY use the Star Wars mugs because the others are "special; Stephanie cannot have special." My best friend had been researching flights for me, but I couldn't justify throwing away 3 flights (my one back home AND my round-trip flight to meet my Irish friend in London). I also didn't want to be a quitter, but boy could I feel the life draining out of me. I deserve better than this. I am worth SOMETHING. I reached out to other aupairs in the Madrid area for comradely. I was so isolated. I didn't know the language, I was in a little village where everything closes early, I work like 8 hours a day for no food and a crappy bed that the kids are able to access anytime, and cannot seem to do anything right to the queen bee of the house. I know this isn't a brutal dating story, but it's brutal none the less. I would make a recipe to parallel this experience, but I'm not permitted to use the oven so, buy your own desserts. This is obviously a few days late, but this just illustrates my stance on the significance of this holiday to my celebration traditions.I couldn't resist this meme. I really have no bitterness (this year) to this holiday. It's inevitable, regardless of the person or persons you have to celebrate it with. At least it's consistent. I was shielded from the commercialism that is Valentine's Day this year. Thank you Europe for not shoving it down my throat on commercials, taunting on the radio, plastering in every store and ad, not to mention illustrated in filters on social media. Due to the 7 hour time difference, I even managed to slip out of the news feed of fields of picked flowers and planes of overpriced chocolates. But that's not to forget the posts about single Awareness Day. Both sides of the chalky candy heart with printed abbreviations were far from my mental. It was incredibly refreshing. My sister's phone call at 3 pm my time was my only notification that February 14th was even here. Since I've been living abroad, I've lost track of the days, because it's just day in. Attack it with all you have and all it requires. Day out. Lay down, respond to some friends' Snapchats while they're hardly leaving work, and slip slowly into tranquility. One thing I do like about Valentine's Day is the way that it evokes an opinion out of everyone. Everyone has their take on it whether it's a cliche money-drainer, an excuse to receive, like an extension of Christmas. We all know, the day after Christmas is when the Valentine's paraphernalia takes precedence on all the shelves. Some other popular perspectives may be that they enjoy the time to devote a night to their love bunny. Others don't need a reminder of their singlehood and past failed relationships. Some see it as a celebration of singleness. And others don't quite give a damn. American children are typically giddy about picking out their character of choice to relay a message that the recipient is awesome sauce or a Q-T. Regardless, everyone has an opinion of it and I love it. While I'm off in Europe as an Aupair for family number two (details to come later), my best friend is living the ultimate Valentine's Day with not one but TWO suitors for Valentine's Day. One showered her with candies, beef jerky (her favorite), and an over-sized fuzzy teddy bear. The other wined and dined her with a grilled steak and a couple signature cocktails because, who needs wine when you have an ex-bartender?
A familiar voice and a half familiar face Whose story I’ve just begun to trace. A comfortable stance with a friendly reach Events to unfold, one could not teach. Leaning in, our eyelashes graze Casual banter just turned the page. Peanut butter adhering to my tongue, An attempt to convey what has begun. A friendship tainted by a kiss series. Happened too sudden to grow in wearies. Engaging in measured touch Intimate, but not too much. Holding onto nothing, but hands; Oblivious we’ve left dry land And submerged into foreign sea, that embraces the temporarily happy. Wadding there with no consequence Liberated from logic to apprehend. Releasing bubbles and popping others Past consideration, never as a lover. Typhooning together and heated foam, Surfacing we’d never have known. Gasping for the brisk unexpected. Reality colliding, we quickly neglected. Alone in the sun we venture apart. Friendship peeled citrus just a little tart. “Orange you glad?” My roommates sneered. Things will forever be different, I feared. “But at least...” Her voice trailed off. Bittersweet budding, not regretting our talk. This is in continuation of yesterday's friendship slippery slope post. Since this fellow isn't much of a sweet person, or a drinker, I'll recite the Amish friendship bread recipe. It's quite delicious and Lacks extreme scrutiny. STARTER
FEEDINGS (2)
FOR THE BREAD:
DAYS 2-4 :STIR THE MIXTURE ONCE PER DAY. DAY 5:
DAYS 6-9: STIR THE MIXTURE ONCE PER DAY. DAY 10:
FRIENDSHIP BREAD RECIPE:
There's a guy that's made the blog before. He was very sweet and a great catch for someone... Just not for my net. And I not for his. So it's mutual, yet we crossed the line that I'm not sure we can never correct. It is the notorious friendship line. He wanted to spend time before I left for my Spain trip, so, obviously I'm going backwards in time here. Join me? He's a gentleman in every sense of the word. He's the man I met on the plane; oh, so he makes for a great story! Also, he's one of my guilty pleasures look-wise, he's a ginger! He requested we meet up for dinner 2 days before I left and enthusiastically, I agreed. We decided to do dinner but, then my best friend kindly remind me that it would be months before I saw her and he's just a guy. The chicks before dicks rule always applies. So, I invited him over for us to make dinner. He said he wasn't much of a cook, but he would try to learn. I told him I brought him an apron and we'd work it out. Actually, I never said that because aprons are excessive. Sometimes you just have to get down and dirty. [Insert that's what she said, here, as I know he would have done.] Anyways, he came over and picked both of us up to buy the ingredients for the dinner. Double bruschetta. He said he'd never tried it before and was eager. It's one of my best friend's favorite dish and I agree. She showed me the recipe and I never make it without her. After taking us to the lovely Publix, he paid for everything. We were both perplexed and more than willing to buy our own share of the groceries. "So you two are cooking for me, and besides, this would be much cheaper than me just taking Stephanie out." We smiled in agreeance and gladly put our wallets away. After arriving to the home, no funny business, just dinner. Afterwards, we put on the foreign film with subtitles because it looked great and well, he kissed me. I don't really know how it started. All I know is that our lips touch after series of eye glances that became deeper and deeper. On the couch, at the Airbnb my best friend and I am currently residing, my guy friend and I had a certain rendezvous. I can't really explain it. It just kind of happened. It was foolish, yet here I am, in my own blog, using those exact sequence of words. I don't think we'll ever be the same... Yet, I have yet to see a difference in our relationship. We conversed a little bit at the beginning of my embarkment into Ireland, Italy, and then it stopped in Denmark. No hard feelings either way. And I hope to return to him as a friend. I've still got a month and a half left so oh, I guess we'll see? Never a dull moment in the Stephanie Realm..... When will I ever learn? A girl on the background on his phone always means he's not alone. This is a lesson I've learned twice now in Europe. Number one was the military man in Rome from my least favorite place in my least favorite profession, as far as gentlemen are concerned, in my experience. Military men and men from Austin are not my cream of the crop. Other people can rave about them, but I will just rant. Sure, I've met a few exceptions, but not enough to change the rule. Phone number 2 in Europe was the very attractive man from my French cooking class. You know, the one that I I semi-aggressively asked for his Facebook. So, I misread signs-- like that doesn't happen in other language! Not to mention the culture difference we had. I don't know anything about French culture except croissants? Is that even a cultural thing? It's not like they have ceremonies or national croissant day. That would be pretty delightful though. Well, in this particular case, I engaged conversation with the Frenchman for a couple days. Things went well regardless of the language barrier. He knew enough English and was good friends with Google Translate to be able to keep the conversation afloat. While floating there, I discovered he had a kid that kept him up at night. Along with that, of course was a girl. I presume the same that was on the background of his phone. Well, I guess I gained a new friend? I don't know if girls really allow their men to have friends that are girls, especially ones that are single and of a wandering nature. I mean, it's not like I expected our conversation to go anywhere, unless it was another trip to France. Then again, I'd rather cover more ground and go to new countries. So alas, another dating blog on your feed. But is it really defeat when there was no real stakes or goals in mind? As I have said before, I'm doing the whole dating yourself thing. And I've yet to disappoint. Just kidding; I've disappointed myself every day. But that's beside the point. This dessert goes out to the blatant signs right in front of your face that you fail to see because you are blinded by attraction.
This recipe simple because it's only as complicated as the mind makes it. It's kind of a trickery. It's a whipped marshmallow dipped in chocolate. It appears to be some delectable chocolate-covered decadent item. But, in it's purest form, it's simply a marshmallow covered in chocolate. Not melted by the campfire side with a roasted aroma. Not complemented between two honey golden Graham crackers. Plainly a marshmallow with a milk chocolate exterior. That's it. No sprinkles, no nuts. Just that. If you want to get fancy, which I don't, you can make your own marshmallow. But marshmallows don't do it for me so I'll leave it at that. And besides, if you've been keeping up, you know I have no access to an oven are real ingredients. I was told yesterday no oven absolutely not. Microwave and toaster only. Not a toaster oven, just a toaster with a down button and a nut button. Maybe America really is the land of the free.. Literally.I'm not sure making avocado brownies with Nesquick is exactly what Theodore had in mind... but, hey! Girl's gotta eat and make the most of a situation that allegedly included "room and board: 3 meals a day."Currently, with no guys on my brain, I am able to return focus to my "date yourself" facade. NOT. I'm working on survival. I go to bed hungry almost every night and am told constantly by the mother that "that is for the kids," "no, that is glutton-free," "that is dairy-free," "you cannot have," and my favorite, "this-- this is e-special. Stephanie no have special." These are actual quotes with an accent as thick as tar and a look, well, equally as thick. I ate airplane cookies in my closet last night and a pear I found in my purse over my bathroom sink. Don't judge... it was juicy. Yes... that is what she said. But Stephanie, if their portions are small and their menus are restrictive, why don't you just buy your own food? Simple:
So... this means, Stephanie has never related to Tommy Pickles so much in her life.Okay! Not this one! The famous: "A baby's gotta do, what a baby's gotta do!" And while we're at it, I'll throw in, "Hold onto your diapies, babies!"So, I got bold and cooked up some creativity in their kitchen breaking more rules than I could count all while the dad was upstairs working from home. Brilliant. The sweet freak whom created Dates and Cakes has been dessert deprived. I bought 4 giant bars of Spanish chocolate and am almost have way through them. I need something of a little substance that I can sneak into my room. Challenge accepted. I set out to make.... we'll call them half-ass, half-sneaky brownies. I would in no mindset (drunk, drowsy, depressed, dashingly dolled up, or daring) recommend you baking this recipe unless you are Desperate. YES Alliteration for the win. But seriously... I'm sharing this recipe so you can see what a day in the life of an aupair in Spain is like when you're living with an OCD, glutton-free, seemingly wealthy but very tight with their funds (especially food and hygiene products), and slightly entitled family. They have a drawer of avocados, so I found the ripest one and scooped it into a bowl and did the monster mash. Then, dumped-- DUMPED Nesquick powder into it. This does two things: serves as both my cocoa AND my sugar. A little more sugar that I would have used but hey, desperate times call for a chocolaty bunny on a yellow canister. Then, I added something called vanilla salt, which I clumsily spilled all over the floor. After scrubbing so OCD parents wouldn't find a trace, I added a pat of butter, an egg, a squeeze of chocolate syrup I believe is for ice cream? And then I chopped 3 squares of extremely dark chocolate (of the 4 bars I bought). In a glutton-free household, you're hard pressed to find flour. Shoot! I need something-- anything! I searched high and low and was unsuccessful at finding baking soda or any derogative. I remembered the corn flakes the mom stated is the only cereal (of a total of 6 types of cereal) I was permitted to eat. Wowwwww, thanks! So, I crunched a handful of them right into my half-ass, half-sneaky brownie batter. Then, I grabbed their hand blender and began the grind. Always. Again, against rule #17 (I think...maybe 71), I preheated the oven and found 2 mini-silicone containers. I scrubbed everything and returned it to its proper place once finished. Also, I toasted a piece of bread and a tray of garbanzo beans for other foods to stash. I'm sure you're thinking, COME ON, dinner can't leave you THAT hungry. Are you that much of an Americanized chub? Some of the dinners are as follows. Each bullet is a different night:
Alas, I give you, avocado brownies. They're sub-par, but compared to my list above..... they are bronze! (gold would be a burger or a real brownie)Surprisingly.... they're actually not that bad! And yes, the one on the right was demolished moments after capturing this picture.#survivalmode #SurviveSpain2019 #sneakysteph #secretsweets #saveme #iwouldkillforasteak #sendmeatI must admit... Copenhagen was a bit of a let down. All the hype about it being "the happiest place on earth" and all the pictures of the quaint fishermen's town of Nyhavn were kind of just that. I enjoyed myself, don't get me wrong.... but Disney still earns the title of "happiest place on earth." It doesn't help my southern soul that there was snow and ice on the ground.... After perusing the city, castles, changing of the guards, and quaint restaurant stops, I returned to my private hostel to get ready for the night. It was Wednesday but, there was a popping pub crawl in Rome on a Tuesday so I thought I at least had a chance. Wrong-o. So, after snapchatting some friends back home, I conducted research of places nearby to drink and begin my own pub crawl. Fun fact: "club" is not what you think it is. Strip bar is exactly what it is. Exhausted after my 20 minute google search, I glanced at the temperature only to scream a little inside. 1 degree Celsius. Yeah, I'm going to go somewhere close.... Even three blocks chapped my nose, cheeks, and fingers through my thin red gloves. It was probably the most unique bar I've ever walked into in my life. No, I don't remember the name... I guess it could fall under the classification of a dive bar. It was the closest one from my hostel, aside from the one inside my hostel, which closed at midnight. Once inside the warmth, there were four seats at the bar and tables set up in a colorful room reminding me of TGIF Friday's. Various bright signs coated the walls and tables were filled with excitable groups with glass bottles in front of them or attached to their hands. The bartender was as inviting as a Black Widow. Already frustrated that it was painfully obvious I wouldn't know a word of the language, she tapped her bony, wrinkled finger on the bar for me to decide what I wanted. To my left, was I kind of older man with a goofy grin. I could feel his eyes resting on me while I tried to make this decision. Do I want a beer? Should I get a cocktail? I don't even know what they're known for in Copenhagen. What if I order the wrong thing? My mind is racing and I feared it wouldn't make it to the finish line. "Try us something 69," the deep voice to the left of me suggested. To this day I still don't even know what it's called because my phone was dead, so I couldn't even take a picture of it. "Oh is that good?" "I'll say; this is my fourth one and I'm feeling it! It's much stronger than American beers." "That obvious ehh?" "Well I'm from the states as well." Surprised and relieved, I replied, "You've got a bit of an accent." "Yeah, I've lived here over 10 years now." "That makes sense." Spitting a word at me in Danish, the spider-like bartender had about reached her limit. "Ummm yes, can I please get that this something 69?" Rolling her eyes, she whipped around and threw it on the counter. "Do you have a bottle opener? Not amused by my unpreparedness to walk into a bar without my own bottle opener, she did so and spit out a number with a thick coated accent that I couldn't comprehend.... "umm.... How much?" I said as I fumbled with A 50 krenn. She snatched it from my hand before I could do anything else and moved to the cash register. I took a seat at the bar stool directly behind my legs, failing to notice someone in my age bracket was seated directly to my right. Throwing my change on the counter, she returned to whatever it is spider bartenders do. After noticing the attractive man to my right, it didn't take me 3 seconds to realize his posture hunched over the bar and droopy eyes. We made eye contact and I mustered up a "Hi." Hello he slurred in an accent different than anyone I didn't countered so far on my Europe trip. Iranian I guessed? He possessed very dark features and a slightly muscular build. He slurred something else with a smile but, like the bartender, I couldn't make it out. Smiling awkwardly, I shifted my eyes toward the older man whom had proved he could articulate. We talked about the states and what brought him here. We talked about the 60's and how not only did he smoke pot with Janis Joplin, but he did her a couple times. Okay sir. He inferred it was an orgy, but I wasn't buying it. The girls to his left had an antique ring on her left finger and looked Danish from what I could tell. She was a very attractive woman and looked at least a decade younger than him. But that's not saying much... I feel like Europeans age better than Americans from what little I've seen. She revealed after my inquiry to pull her into the conversation, that she was indeed Danish, mixed with Swedish. That explained her gorgeous accent. The older gentleman spoke Danish with her to prove his bilingual status. At some point during this conversation, the attractive man left; hopefully went to find a bed somewhere. The American certainly was right about the beer. It was notably stronger than your average lager. Feeling much thirstier than I typically do with beer, I spoke softly to the spider-bartender with as much etiquette as I possibly could. "There's no way I could get a water is there?" She grabbed a bottle and I asked for tap water. "Please?" Curtly, she spat, "No. I don't even think the tap works." "Okay thank you..." But she didn't hear me. She whipped back around and returned to her spider tasks. Five minutes later, she used the same tap she pointed to to wash dishes. Okay lady. Okay 30 minutes later or so, my couple friends left for their train back home. They lived about an hour from Copenhagen. I told him how great it was to meet them and slipped out of the bar with them.
As soon as you opened the door, a doll that was connected to a string and two wheels lifted up. After closing the door, the doll returned to its original position. Bizarre. I wish there would have been some sort of bar crawl so I could have enjoyed a little bit more of the nightlife and Copenhagen, but, I still enjoyed myself and was able to make a blog post out of it ;)) Dublin, Darling!In this new chapter of my dating, I committed to no dating apps and no seeking relationships; anything that happens, happens. Well, last time I was in lovely Ireland, my Tinder was still in full swing. I swiped the entirety of the 8 days I was in the lush land of Ireland, from Dublin to Kilkenny, Kilarney to Dingle, The Ring of Kerr to Galway. Several guys that added me on Snapchat kept up with me occasionally on posts I would make or comments on posts they sent into cyberspace. One guy, in particular, was a sarcastic sort with a kind heart and even kinder eyes. He messaged me as soon as he saw I was in Dublin again. "Aye! You're back? I'm not in Dublin tonight, but will be back Monday." "Man, you'll just have missed me! I leave Monday morning." "Aww, next time. You came right back though, it seems." Our conversation continued as he was intrigued by my ability to float from Ireland to Italy, from Denmark to Spain. Then, the floodgates were opened and we talked about everything under the sun on the same side of the world we resided. Politics (other countries are so intrigued about Trump and how we elected him to rule our country), democracy, economics, kids, relationships, beer, careers, university, family dynamic, past jobs, Cinema, our individual personality flaws, lingo, accents.... until wee hours into the morning. The night I went on the bar crawl of Madrid, he was out drinking pints with his friends and sent me two drunk pictures. One, he was cute as a button, with a smug look and the other was him shirtless, which he was embarrassed about the next morning. Apologizing profusely, he said he's much more of a gentleman than that. I thought it was sweet how apologetic he was and concerned with my level of comfort. Flirting ignited and we responded and quite a rapid pace. One day, we took the other on a virtual tour of our current location. Via snapchat, we sent videos and pictures of the scenery, people, and activities in our current venturing spot. I sent him pictures of the village of Tres Cantos and I ventured one Sunday evening. And he was thrilled to be "teleported to Spain." We began messaging every day and he mentioned taking me on a date if I were there. My response that "I'm not very far" didn't amount to anything my fairy tale heart had imagined. I mean, I have weekends off and I love Ireland... At first, he liked the idea, and things seemed mutual. He glowed about places he could take me and things we could do. The idea was exciting, and it was quite nice to have someone just an hour apart I could talk to. We had an uncanny amount of things in common, we loved each other's accents, he was familiar with what part of Ireland my dad's side of the family was from, "The Daly's" before they migrated (yes, like birds, we fly!) to the Irish Channel in New Orleans during the famine. We laughed about differences in dialect and slang and our plans in life. We even shared a similar experience with our most recent relationship. He got into a relationship too quick and it didn't work out. He had to break up with her before her feelings for him overcast his feelings for her. He empathized when I shared my knee-jerk reaction to enter a relationship before leaving for the abroad chapter of my life. "You aren't even going to return to the same place? How could that--" "I know. You just don't know how he looked at me, or how it made me feel." "Yes, that happens... but I think you watch too many romance movies." Ahh, the truth that I am not going to allow the world to corrupt my bleeding fairy tale heart, I have no shame:)) Still excited about the trip, he did want to be respectful of my time here. "Are you sure you want to go back to Ireland instead of another country?" "If I have someone cool to spend it with-- of course! Besides, Ireland is my favorite thus far, anyway!" I could feel him smiling through the phone. We continued to flight and allude to plans. "Okay, if you're sure. :)" Then, that is until I made the statement, "well, if it goes well, you know what that means..." "What?" "Next time, you come visit me." Then, the notorious back-peddling" Well, I don't get many holidays and I am going to Australia in May...." "Yeah, but this is only January, silly. Coders don't get weekends off?" Radio Silence. "I need to think about this." Immediately, I screen-shot the progression in conversation and sent it to my Irish friend, Nicola. She gave me the down-low on Irish men and why she prefers Americans and other foreigners. We agreed he wouldn't go the distance, literally. She reminded me, lightheartedly about my blog and how I need to focus on that with guys ALL OVER Europe. With a response to no surprise, he stressed he doesn't get many holidays and is not at all adventurous and... I responded pleasantly and just said, "don't worry about it. Like I said, it's in my personality to be really excited about things. I had no intention to come on too strong and that's totally understandable." He continued to talk to me and engage in great conversation the next couple nights in a row. I would try to go to sleep and then he would pull me back in with something I couldn't resist commenting on or giving a snarky response to. Putting myself back into the game of dating myself and engaging with new people in new places, I accepted the great conversation was just that. I joked that he would eventually make an appearance on my blog. Naturally, he wasn't taken with this idea but.... as always, I do what I want ;)) Since we were on a roll, I decided this fair-skinned sweetie earned Irish Whiskey Truffles.Ingredients:
As you know, noon is only halfway through the day. So, as I proceeded through my day, I made it to a wine museum. It went in-depth the process and bottling and labels ....How wine came to be, essentially. I made my stroll around the city and made little pit stops along the way. I return to my hostel in the center of the beautiful town of Bordeaux and made eye contact with the Beautiful owner resembling the Beauty and the Beast Prince with a surfer's twist. He was in the corner of the cafe on 40 of the hostel. Unfortunately, that was the only time I saw him again. But, hey! That was enough for me;)) Then I made my way to one of the most beautiful churches and oldest of the city. It was barricaded by policeman dressed in similar uniforms that American SWAT teams wear. They held glass Shields and were standing in front of barricades and colossal vans. None of them spoke English; I'm still not certain what was going on, all I know is some of them were from Paris which is at least a three-hour drive away. That's not terrifying at all for a young American in a foreign country where Isis is on the move. Phoning my best friend, I managed to make it to another church and just balled in the pew. After Mass, which was 35 minutes longer than a typical Catholic Mass (not just because it was in a different language), I breathed and took off, in pursuit of a wine bar to enjoy the culture of Bordeaux. It's my only night here and I need to get the most of it, a pep talked myself. Google Maps failed me again and I ended up not finding the place with 5 star rating. Instead, I circled my current location and found a hole in the wall Wine Bar. The Frenchman behind the bar was much older, but much kinder than I'd encountered at other food shops in the city. He pour me a glass of red wine and was able to understand a little bit of my English. In between helping other customers, he passed me a piece of cheese. Here, to compliment. It was a strong piece of Parmesan that complemented the wine beautifully. He didn't even charge me for it. He suggested I said next to a gentleman eating hummus and drinking wine at one of the petite booths. A man with a gentle face and a colorful scarf looked up through his thick oval rimmed glasses. "Bonjour." Oh shit, I thought. He read my face and replied, "You no know French?" Sheepishly, I replied, "no, English is my only language. " His style was hipster mixed with intellect. My guess for his age was possibly 36. He studied me as I did him and certainly couldn't translate his conclusion. I did, however, notice his eyes returned to the blue pieces in my hair more than once. Not sure he was into the "edgier type," but anyone that knows me would laugh at Stephanie and edgy being used in the same sentence. His eyes were kind, which were reinforced by his next gesture: "Here, I help you," he said leaning over the table, while maintaining eye contact. "Ju ma pair is my name is." Staring at him like he was speaking a different language (HA!) ,I stuttered nervously, "Ju ma paa-ir?" "Wee. Now what is your name, say it." "Stephanie." "Oh? That is a French name, Stephanie." He exaggerated my name with a bold French accent. "Woah, really? I didn't know my name was French." "Slowly, slow with your English, Stephanie." There he goes with special pronunciation. Gosh, French really is an appealing language. "Yes, I talk really fast. Oh-- I mean, I. talk. really. fast. Sorry." Laughing at my unnatural slowed speech, he continued with his lesson. "Como tu pair? Your name is?" "Oh." "Repeat it." "Oh," laughing I continued, "yeah, como tu pair?" "Ju ma pair, Landry." Another French-ass name, I thought. New Orleans actually has a famous restaurant chain called Landry's, I thought to myself. My Cajun culture is coming in handy. Smiling, I continued conversation as I could. I turned to Google translate when we had trouble. There was a table of French girls, at arms reach to my left, his right that were observing our interactions. Quite certain they were judging the "stupid American," I timidly continued with the lesson stating, "Tu pair Landry, Ju ma pair, Stephanie." "Yay!!" The girls sang. "Very (ved-ey) good," the blonde with bangs praised. Feeling my cheeks warm, I timidly said, "thank you." Smiling and laughing, they looked at Landry, whom beamed at his work. They left the shop a bit later, but Landry and I continued to talk (or attempt to). He is an artist and a chef-- of course he is! He began showing me some of his art work-- he's quite good. He asked what I did, aside from being an aupair. I glowed about my writing and showed him one of my poems, translated into French, courtesy of Google Translate. "Oh, wow," he responded. "Do you.... do you want a drink?" "Is the shop not closing?" I said, looking around the shop in which we were currently the only inhabitants, aside from the owner that fed me cheese. "No," he said laughing. "Yes," I smiled. I guess he didn't really hear me because we talked a bit longer, but neither of us got another drink. Knowing I had to wake at 4:30am for my bus back to Madrid, I gathered my things. "Merci... for everything," I said to my new French friend. Then he responded something he had yet to teach me. Puzzled, I gave him a look. "It means, good luck. Good luck, Stephanie." Smiling, I thanked him in English and French again and walked out of the wine shop and his life. Words from my lesson: Tu- you Eel-he or she New- we Miel- honey Formage-cheese Landry Je i Tu. You Paton=spring Il he she Nous we Vous you all of us or "y'all" I taught him, proudly. Ils they E-ver=wint Auton-fall It-eh=summer Pawn=bread Returning to my Hostel, there was a party scheduled to start around 1 and the clock read 11:37 pm. Exhausted emotionally from the safety threat and intellectually from the language lesson, not to mention, last night I slept on a bus (kinda), I made the executive decision to shower and head to my bunk.WHAT? Stephanie, who are you? You're not going to try to dance with some beautiful Frenchman or dare to french kiss a French? I'm dating myself, remember? ;)Seated directly in front of a beautiful specimen (best friend's terminology), we began the 10 hour journey to the south of France. \\nThe trip consisted of many ill-mannered passengers unaware of the phone rule on a charter bus. My soundtrack consisted of r&b muffled with Indian, Spanish, and french high pitched phone conversations. I managed to take two separate naps, sprawled on my window seat. \\nUnfortunately, the beauty behind me never took an interest in conversing with anyone. We even got off on the same stop, but nothing came of it. \\nIn the chill of the French morning, I briskly walked the 1.3 miles to my hostel. Dodging party "favors" from Friday night's festivities of party animals, I walked carefully to my hostel in a central area of bordeaux, touching the largest retail strip in all of Europe. Upon reaching my dark hostel, nearly eaten by frost bite, I sat down on a stacked chair outside, defeated. I knew check in wasn't until 3pm bit I hoped I could sit in the lobby to thaw until the city stirred. Also, online, they advertised lockers to secure your belongings. I wasn't sitting 2 minutes when a lanky, Frenchman with an inch or so long buzz cut and Rayban glasses unlocked the door and projected, "check in?" \\n"Yes, oh thank you. " \\nI figured he would correct himself when he saw my check in time, but I relinquished my name while my eyes gazed at the bar behind him and chalk menu propped directly at my feet to the left. \\n"Ahh Stephanie. Room 301. You're the only one right now. " \\nIn disbelief that I was recieving my key, muchless a 6-bunked room was presently vacant, I offered a smile and my credit card in silence. \\nSmiling, he finished the check in process, while I acknowledged hours level of attractiveness in my mind. \\n"Seriously, thanks so much. " I said as I proceeded to the elevator. After letting myself into the room, I was overcome by a drowsy spell since I had traveled by foot, train, uber, and bus in the last 11 hours. After filing the locker under my bunk with my tired pink backpack, I realized I didn't have the wifi or a lock. Returning the the ground floor (0 on the elevator) I was taken aback by a stunning chiseled glass of water with dirty blonde hair draped over his shoulders. He resembled the prince from the beauty and the beast, after beast form with a tinge of 'surfer.' Gosh, looking like that, he could bring the beast out of any woman... or man. \\n"Hhhhi- hi. I was trying to get the wifi." \\n"Oh hi! I'm Mador. What's your name?" 'That's a French-ass name, Evon' is all I could think in my head. That madtv skit, 'Can I Have Your Number' has never been so relevant in my life. \\n"Hey," I said warmly, trying to keep my cool. I could feel my pulse heighten. "I'm Stephanie." \\n"Oye, Stephanie! Where you from?" \\n"The states. Specifically, Texas. " \\nMaintaining eye contact, he put extra emphasis on "Texas." \\nGuhhh he's so gorgeous. \\nI would like to imagine our eyes lingered, but the conversation was normal. He handed me a slip with the wifi on it and I inquired of the lock prices. \\n"Yes, locks are 4." \\n"Oh, okay," I said, dropping my eyes to my pocket of euros. \\n"You know, here, it's a gift." Bending down and retrieving a black lock in a plastic bag, he handed it over with another spine-tingling smile. \\nCan I die here? Goshhhhh! \\n"Oh- Are you sure?" I'm sure some sexy fashionable Frenchie already has him locked down, I thought. \\n"Yes. My gift." \\nBefore I could respond, he asked, "what are you doing tonight? There's a party here." \\n"Oh, here in the hostel?" I said in an impressed tone. Also, quite relieved I wouldn't have to fight the forecasted 3 degree celcius Saturday night. \\n"Yes. You like it so far?" \\n"Yeah, it's really great!" It's the luckiest I've been all trip, but I didn't want to bore this angel straight from heaven. \\n"Good. I own it. " \\n"Oh wow! Good for you!" Oooo man, has a good job and... he interrupted my silly girlie thoughts with reiteration about the party. \\n"So I'll see you tonight, stephanie?" \\n"Yeah, you will." Wew! I don't know how I survived without screaming. He's the hottest guy I've- well...I don't know, the bartender at the first place on the Ireland crawl was pretty hot and so was.... I digress. He was hott, okay? My little french pastry, little croissant. After setting an alarm to make the bus for my 9am cooking class, I passed out hard. Powdering my face, immediately after awaking to my mundane chime alarm, I was ready four my pastry-making class. After a 45 minute bus ride, I entered the French home to find an older lady with a red apron and thin cat-eye glasses standing at the cooking station, complete with your basics: standing mixer, trays, bowls, a grinder, ingredients, parchment paper, and a canister of utensils from A to Z. Across from the lady was another attractive Frenchman. I'll be dammed. He had a warm smile and dark, short hair with a beard.. mmm. Apparently, the class was in French. The recipe, the participants, and the food, obviously ALL FRENCH. I'm a pretty solid baker but, I can't follow directions I don't understand. EEK. luckily, Christoph, another French-ass name, the instructor spoke a LITTLE English. This will be fun. it really was. Benjamin, the attractive participant across from me, occasionally smiled from across the table. He even poured my glass first upon pouring the water glasses. At the end of the class is when I discovered he actually understands a little English. We talked a little with English not as broken as I imagined. When we came across a phrase we couldn't convey, I used my handy dandy Google Translate. After the class, high on sugar I made a bold move. " Hey, I know we don't really speak the same language, but do you have a snapchat?" "No. But Facebook?" Instantly regretting my patch of courage, I pulled up FB on my phone and he typed in his name. Christoph took this as an opportunity to also get my FB for marketing purposes. 3 hotties and it's only noon. What does the night hold? While that cliff hanger sets in, I'm going to duplicate part one of the recipe, the praline paste. That's the English translation; I promise, the French terminology is much more alluring. Prailine Butter?Toast 1/2 cup of hazelnuts and 1/2 cup of almonds for 10 minutes at 180 C. On medium heat, boil 3/4 cup of sugar, 1/4 cup light corn syrup, and 1/8 cup of water. Stir briefly, and change spoons once crystals dissolve. Boil until mix reaches golden, caramel color.
|
AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
April 2022
Categories
All
|