Saturday Night: Full Throttle

12 02 2011

What it’s like, early: Hector locates the previously missing house wine – Rioja Antaño – at Ahorra Más. I bake cookies, employing a hammer to bust apart a pair of 72% dark chocolate bars with cocoa nibs.

What it’s like, later: I touch up my Wicked Witch of the West nails.

What it’s like, later still: As Marta paparazzis, Hector and I meet our groomed new selves in the mirror. Totally coincidentally, we have both decided on today as the Day of Reckoning for our long-neglected mops of hair.

What it’s like, just a smidge later: a little Morrissey, a little Elvis, a lot of curlybang, and a touch of Pac-Man.

What it’s like, latest known record: Hector, house mixologist, concocts a trio of the latest in G&Ts, each featuring elements of cucumber, lime, and grapefruit.

Happy Monday Bouillabaisse

13 12 2010

As I lie in bed this lazy Monday morning, I muse on the excellence of the early day off. Stray thoughts enter and exit my cerebrum without consequence, until one suddenly sticks. I must make bouillabaisse.

I learn the words for fennel (hinojo) and leek (puerro), which Mercadona shockingly keeps in constant stock. Hector mashes together a magnificently garlicky rouille, and the hake purchased from my local fishmonger (Ina Garten, eat your heart out!) is ever-so-gently simmered towards flaky tomato-broth perfection. Today I remove my first-ever mussel beards.

Marta comes home to a piso overflowing with soupe de poisson. We pour the remaining chilled white wine, and together we feast.

Recipe here, although I changed it significantly. A good 2/3 of my broth was white wine, and I added both puréed tomatoes and tomato paste for more punch. A squeeze of lemon juice brightened up the essential seafoodiness, and I didn’t do any straining nor blending of the veggies. It is a seriously forgiving soup. Try it.

Tupperware – fotopost

23 10 2010

Leggo Cup

14 10 2010

Ladies and gentleman, thanks to the immaculately fabulous taste of housemate Hector, my breakfasts have been upgraded.

My schedule requires me to madrugar twice a week, rising at the illustrious hour of 6 AM – during which Madrid is still fully entombed in its sheath of night. Yet the pain of rubbing the crusty remnants of sleep from my protesting eyeballs is soothed over: I am not alone. The Lego buddy is from Zaragoza, and he has 16 possible facial configurations in all. The pleasure of a slew of combinational possibilities is not to be scoffed at.

But soft! What spoon through yonder eggshell breaks?

It is the egg, and the yolk is the sun!
Arise, fair yolk, and kill the envious madrugada,
who is already sick and pale with grief
that thou her maid art far more creamy than she.

Mascarada! – fotopost

4 10 2010