The recipe we made yesterday was for paella from a can. The directions I painstakingly, laboriously tried to translate was for the rice part of the recipe. What I did was put some water and the rice in a pan and cook it until it was done. I mean, it's rice, right? The paella part was a bit more interesting. One of the components of the seafood paella was chicken, the universal meat. Except this was chicken with skin, still on the bone. Cultural oddities, indeed. In The States that chicken would have been genetically bred to have zero fat; ground in an industrial grinder; reconstituted as a chicken-like patty; and inserted in the paella, except there is no WAY you could buy paella in a can in The States. It's hard enough buying cooked-from-scratch paella in a restaurant.
As we watched some TV last night - a rainy night in St. Remy du Provence - we started to hear a rhythmic pounding outside. This was Sunday night - Easter Sunday night - so the noise was unexpected. We kept opening the windows to peer outside to see what was up. I had noticed a big sponge sort of super-glued to the balustrade outside the window of our what-I-must-assume ancient house. Aha. Water was dripping from the eaves far above and hitting this tin stripping. Most of it was landing on the sponge but there were a few rebels dancing to the left and to the right. I found the most egregious violator and put a cup under the stream to catch the water, which I snagged just before it slid off and down to the street below. I put a piece of cloth under the dripping to see the dripping shift left. This was a smart-ass drip.
I understand the concept behind Chinese Water Torture now.
People really do walk around with long loaves of bread here.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment