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It All Started with Meatballs
Last night I was like, “Hmm, you know what sounds good? Meatballs and gravy and mashed potatoes.”
Maybe I was missing Ikea. They do have Ikeas in Spain but the closest one is over an hour away.
So I went with my son to our local butcher Jordi. My son is on a first name basis with the two butchers in town. Neither butchers know my name.
There were a few people ahead of us who all had big orders. Everyone was doing last minute shopping for their dinner.
When it was our turn I ordered in my shitty Spanish but we realized that Jordi didn’t have beef broth. So after we got the meat we had to go to another store to get broth.
When we got back home, Radford, my wife, said, “Where were you?”
“There was a long line.” I said. “I sent a message.”
“I didn’t get it,” she said.
“I sent a message,” I said.
“Yeah, I didn’t get it.”
This went on for a while before I put the groceries in the kitchen. The oven was pre-heating.
Radford fashioned the meatballs while I set the table.
Then the power went off.
We’ve had major problems with our potencia since we moved into this house two months ago. Our lampista…
