Milk, Eggs, and Churros

If you saw my Señora’s kitchen, chances are pretty good that you’d be impressed. Everything is orderly and surfaces are wiped clean—always. My Señora even cleans the stove twice a day. In fact, the entire first floor is swept or mopped on a daily basis, and the table is arranged with flowers and picture frames in between meals. As far as I can tell, this is both normal and expected in Spain. Coming from the States, however, the house almost seems fake or not lived in. Yet despite the extreme cleanliness of the physical surroundings, the lack of cleanliness involved in actually cooking a meal is somewhat disturbing from an American perspective. Let’s just say that hand soap is nonexistent in the kitchen, and a quick rinse with cold water functions as “washing” hands after touching raw meat. I’m not even convinced any of the knives get more than a quick cold-water rinse. Additionally, my Señora thinks nothing of coughing into her hands and immediately returning to preparing my food, even when she is sick. Likewise, expectations for refrigeration are relatively relaxed. The apple juice and strawberry jelly I consume at breakfast is typically left out all night in the case that my Señora doesn’t wake up before me. Additionally, if you were to walk into a supermarket to buy milk, eggs, or even heavy cream, you wouldn’t find them in the refrigerated section. Crazy, right? As it turns out, none of this has actually been problematic. I haven’t been particularly ill—at least not yet—and I’m starting to realize that maybe America really just is obsessed with sanitation and refrigeration.

The dining room table as arranged between meals:

On a different note, I would like to explain a more recent cultural clash (of sorts). On Thursday morning, during a short walk around Sevilla with one of my classes, the professor showed us where to buy some quality churros (basically sticks of fried dough). Anyone who knows me or my sweet tooth knows I was eager to go back and get myself a pile of them. So that night before my 6:30 class, I stopped by the churrería with a friend. Closed. WHAT? Who operates a fried-dough-type-stand at 9am but not 6pm? As it turns out, few churro stands are open in the afternoon. Why? They cater to the people who are just coming home from a night out. The kind Spanish person who explained this fact to me added, “Welcome to Europe!”

Churros:

Spanish word of the day: chirimoya = a type of fruit with lots of “huesos” = literally “bones” but in this context “seeds” (because I tried one, and it was delicious.)

Chirimoya:

un abrazo,
elizabeth