Reader Discretion Advised

I am home today, finally feeling better (more on that later), but Michael is out of town, and I thought I would get a post off to you about our weekend.  It was quite full.  Clio had her first basketball game.  And we spent many, many (many) hours with new friends (as you do in Spain).  But the story of our weekend is going to have to wait one more day because now that I am back from my morning excursion to the market we have slightly more pressing things to discuss.

Last night I told the girls I was going to try to make the fish that they liked so much in Almunecar.  “The sweet fish?!?!?!” they asked.  It was a salt-crusted whole fish that they devoured and loved and they remember it as sweet, which is sweet.  But I’ve become pretty adept at setting low expectations for myself and those around me so I warned them that I would probably mess up tonight but get better at it with time.  I had no idea I could fail before I had even started.

Before hitting the square where the fish market lady is, I stopped by the little organic grocer and stumbled my way through the purchase of some bananas.  When the price of a purchase doesn’t appear on the screen, I am at the mercy of a cashier who will speak either exceptionally slowly or with endless repetition to buy me enough time to make the translation in my head.  Today was not my day. 

Long Haired Hippy Guy who owns the store recognizes me now and has figured out that I’m not just here for a week.  I think his tolerance for me has worn thin.  Today, after patiently-ish waiting for me to figure out what number he was saying when he gave me my total, he asked me if I was new to Spain, or something along those lines, as if the answer wasn’t painfully obvious.  I replied “Si.”  And then I threw in “Para seis meses.”  Surprisingly, after we had just spent five minutes trying to get me to understand “$2.75” in Spanish, he launches into some rapid fire statement with at least 50-70 words in it and, not surprisingly, I couldn’t pick out a single one.  My best guess, based solely on his inflection, tone, and hand movements, was that he was saying “Oh good, you’ll be here long enough to learn the language.  SURELY after six months you’ll be speaking Spanish and properly buying bananas.”

Well.  We’re all allowed to dream.

My next stop was Plaza Larga.  Veggie and fruit stalls set up today in the middle of the square and racks of clothes, too.  Lots of old people milling around and chatting and catching up with each other.  Super cute and quaint.  Picked up three apples, a huge bunch of carrots, parsley, and a huge bag of huge strawberries, all of which would have set me back $15 in NYC.  $5 here.  The woman who sold them to me seemed to be speaking more simply and slowly than Long Haired Hippy Guy and I was grateful.  Though there may have been some miscommunication/misunderstanding when I asked her for ten strawberries.  She grabbed handful after handful and I wondered if I had inadvertently asked for 10 kilos of strawberries.  “Esta bien!” I said, trying to get her to stop.  “Esta bien” is pretty much my go-to phrase.  I can make it work in almost any situation.  It probably also indicates I don’t exactly what I am saying but at least I’m trying.

Fish was next.  I was relieved to see that Fish Lady was open.  This is not always the case.  One cannot and should not plan their meals or day around the fish store being open.  That would be a really stupid thing to do.  I walked in and the first thing I noticed was the smell – fresh and delicious!  Not what you were expecting me to say, huh?!?!  I wish there was an app to capture scent.  Fish Lady, who is large, friendly, and handles fish like nobody’s business, was very busy today.  There were lots and lots of short, cute little old ladies stopping in to get their sardines and to gossip with Fish Lady.  Everyone seems to know everyone here which is lovely and quaint (there's that word again) and makes for lots and lots of chatter.  I was taking all this in, marveling at the old-worldliness of what was happening around me.  And then suddenly it was my turn and Fish Lady turned her attention to me and said something super-duper friendly.  I have no idea what she said but I wish more people behind counters would do the same thing.  I was so taken aback by her politeness that all I could manage was “Hola” while pointing to a fish.  She said something, the name of the fish I think, picked it up, and placed it in her scale.  Then she turned back to the old woman on my right, continued their conversation, and collected the old lady's coins. 

Maybe now is the moment to tell you that Fish Lady, while I am a little in love with her for being at once super-friendly and not at all disgusted by handling fish, was not wearing little plastic food gloves.  And I'm trying to figure out how much I care about this.  I wash all my food when I get it home anyway, but it was a little odd to see someone grab a handful of sardines with her bare hands, place them in a bag, and then receive coins with the same hands.  I didn't know whether to be worried about the sardines or the coins.  There are a few people in my life who would, at this moment, without hesitation, turn and leave.  I, however, have been conditioned to assume that things that are “best-practice” in America (like picking up after your dog, politely moving out of someone’s way, or wearing plastic gloves when you handle food) are all, somehow, representative of a country and a culture with its priorities in the wrong place.  So I stayed, waited for my fish, and made a mental note to rinse it well.

While Little Old Lady On My Right had paid for her fish, she also stayed because she had some gossip to finish apparently.  But Fish Lady, though super busy, is also super skilled - she can chat, gossip and handle fish simultaneously.  She grabbed my fish from the scale, plopped it on her counter, and pulled out a knife.  "Oh, that’s weird," I think.  "Why doesn’t she just leave the head on?"  But her knife worked quickly and before I could say anything, the head was off.  And just as I was thinking about how relieved I am that she took the head off so that I wouldn’t have to look at it tonight in my kitchen, she started to descale the fish.  "Shit," I think.  "I was supposed to say something so that she would keep the scales on.  I don’t think I can salt-cover the fish without the scales.  Well, maybe I can fudge it."  And just as I was thinking of a way to fudge it, she started slicing the fish for me.  "Damn it!!!  There goes my plan for salt-baking a whole fish.  What's my Plan B?"  And just as I am coming up with Plan B, Fish Lady pulls out a mallet and starts beating the shit out of the fish head. 

Um......

What.  Is.  Happening??

I want to look away but I can’t. 

Over and over again she is somewhat violently bashing in the fish head and I cannot comprehend the purpose of bashing in a fish head.  I want to back up because little fish bits are starting to fly, but there are too many old ladies behind me.  "Keep Calm and Don’t Vomit," I think.  "Surely this exercise is almost over."  She mercifully puts down the mallet and stops beating the fish’s head and I take a deep breath, grateful that the brutality is over.  But then Fish Lady…still chatting with her friend.....reaches her hand….INTO the head……and pulls out a handful of ohmygod…..that I do not even want to discuss.  And unfortunately for my senses, the entire episode played out in a painful slow motion.

“Oh my god.  Oh my god,” I pray.  “Please do not let this fish head be for me.”   

Fish Lady looks up at me and says "Like this?” 

“No!  No, no, no, no, no like this!  No at all like this!!  Really, NOTHING like THIS!!” 

But instead I said.  “Si."  And then I added "Pero, no cabeza por favor.”  Which I thought was a decent compromise. 

Suddenly, all the Little Old Ladies around me went quiet.  In fact, I'm pretty certain the entire Plaza Larga went quiet.  Then, just as suddenly, all the Little Old Ladies started speaking at once.  To me, to each other, probably to god, in a Spanish that suddenly I could understand perfectly.  “Que?!!?!  Why wouldn’t you want the head??  The head is the best part!!  You can’t just leave the head.  You have to take the head.  Don’t you even know what you can do with the head??  The head makes wonderful soup.  And broth.  It has healing powers.  You will live forever!  Ugh.  Stupid American.  You waste everything.  Your priorities are all in the wrong place.  You don’t take siestas, your stores stay open too long and for too many days, and you don’t even know that the fish head is the best part of the fish.  Plus you are too skinny.  Blech!!”

“Esta bien,” I say.  “La cabeza.” 

And with that, it’s all bagged up for me.  All the pieces plus a bashed head.  I take the bag from Fish Lady’s hands, keenly aware of the fish brains that now cover both.  I hand her my Euros.  I watch her take my Euros and give me change, keenly aware that they, too, are now covered in fish brains.  I walk home in a daze.  I nearly step in shit.  I think about how quaint and charming it all seemed just half an hour ago, walking into market to buy vegetables and fish.  But now I have fish brains in my wallet and a fish head in my bag and I'm going to have to either come up with a new word for this town or adjust my definition and understanding of the word "quaint."