Some days aren’t yours. From day in to day out, nothing is yours. Your monitor’s glare seems to complement the words that run through your head all day. “You idiot. You jerk. You followed your dreams and where has it left you? Poor, unhappy and extremely aware of how bleak your future is in comparison to the 20 or 21-year-old faces that see you only as an e-mail address or as a means to get what they want.”
Today I wish I was by the sea.
I’ll gather mussels, white wine and parsley and cook Billi Bi
Sing to me of the men, Muse, the fishermen who in the early morning bit into fresh bacalao in the pre-dawn light before loading into their boats, of the Arabs who brought saffron in baskets and pickles in jars, of the young and of the old weaving through the streets of San Sebastian and Madrid, picking, drinking, and continuing to the next bar….
What I found was spiced up canned tuna (it involves a lot of olive oil.)
Before summer runs away from me, this little blog of mine has to visit Spain.
Enough with Boni’s flowery language, enough with Davidis’ succinct instructions, and it’s not time for canning yet, so no Norwegian either! Today we celebrate Spain and Simone Ortega, wife of the founder of the newspaper El Pais, who in 1972….wait….