Tuesday, January 15, 2013Quiet, Glorious Quiet
It has been a few weeks since some skeletons tumbled out of a closet and danced a jig, but I'll get to that later. Maybe. Eventually. First I have to figure out if those skeletons really belong here in this Story About Us.
Anyway.
The skeletons tumbled, danced a jig, and they left a few dollars behind. That's the short version of a long, bizarre story. Don't you just love it when I'm vague like that?
I will not be vague about this -- WHY THE HELL DID WE WAIT SO LONG TO BUY A NEW DISHWASHER?
You heard me scream that at the top of my lungs, right? Maybe not just now, but probably at least seventy eleventeen bajillion times over the past few weeks? Because I have screamed it. Many, many times.
When we bought this house three years ago, we did so with hesitation in our hearts and a little stupid going on in our brains. It was a very badly maintained foreclosure that had been trashed. TRASHED. Very nearly destroyed, even. There was an excellent chance that we would lose our cutie patooties if we bought it, but we did so anyway. Somehow, we got lucky. Most of the damage was relatively easy to fix.
But there was that thing where the previous owners had ripped out everything that wasn't nailed to the floor. Except, they ripped out some of that stuff, too. They took the light fixtures, the faucets, and they most certainly took every appliance. Except for that dishwasher.
That was a sign, you know. When people clearly strip a house of everything of value and they leave behind a dishwasher? It's because they know they would have to pay someone to take it from them.
Which is what we did, but only after three years of not being able to run the dishwasher if anyone was home. The noise from the old one was so deafening that you couldn't hold a conversation in another room, never mind the kitchen. Standing in the kitchen when the dishwasher was on was like standing on the runway of an airport. I'M SORRY, DID YOU SAY SOMETHING? I COULDN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE ROAR OF THAT CHEAP-ASS DISHWASHER THAT DOESN'T ACTUALLY CLEAN THE DISHES ANYWAY.
So when I magically had a couple of extra dollars burning a hole in my pocket, I impulse bought a dishwasher. Because it was pretty. Seriously. That was my thought process. "Which dishwasher is the prettiest? That's the one I want." I didn't even care about the ratings or decibels or reviews or any of that because we were going from absolute junk to greatness. And by "greatness" I mean, "I could shove a bunch of hamsters in a box and end up with cleaner dishes than I do with the old one, so a new one would be an improvement no matter what."
It's so pretty.
And quiet.
And pretty.
And did I mention that it's quiet? Like, it's running right now and I can't hear it from ten feet away.
BLISS.
In case you are wondering, I did indeed just write an entire blog post about the wonder and majesty that is my new dishwasher. This is how you know I'm sort of a grown-up. Simple things like new appliances make me deliriously happy.
Caldo Galego (Galician Vegetable Stew)
I can't remember her name, but I do remember her tiny, gallery-style kitchen. It was a warm and cozy nook in the corner of a tiny apartment that was very obviously filled with love.
And with homesickness.
Much like everyone who lived in Alicante, the girl I befriended while spending my senior year of high school in Spain wasn't from Alicante. She had very recently moved there from Galicia and she very obviously missed everything about it. Alicante is much like Las Vegas in that it's a tourist town devoid of its own personality. It begs and borrows and steals the best from other cities, but it doesn't have anything that is its own.
Galicia does, though. Days and nights were spent learning about Galicia. My 18-year old teacher was all too happy to teach me all about her part of Spain. She spun tales about sunsets and scenery, festivals and fun, and food.
There was a lot of talk about food.
Along the way, the girl's mother joined in on one of those conversations about the rich cuisine of their home province. A little of this led to a little of that and before I knew it, I was eating Caldo Galego.
No lie ... that night I spent dining on Caldo Galego and chatting with friends who were also far from home was a highlight of the time I spent in Spain. The friends were great and the food was a perfect accompaniment. It was amazing.
I haven't been able to exactly recreate Caldo Galego just yet, mostly because I only recently figured out what "grelo" is in English (rapini, in case you were wondering). I haven't come across it at a grocery store, but when I do, expect some magic to happen. And it will happen.
In the meantime, I spent some weeks figuring out a reasonable way of impersonating Caldo Galego. I think I've got it down. Finally. It's not exactly what I remember, but it's really, really, really good.
Caldo Galego
1 15-oz can white beans (these are the closest thing I could find to what I had in Spain)
1 32-ounce box of vegetable broth (I used this kind)
1 small onion, chopped
1/2 cup chopped carrots
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 small turnips, chopped
2 small white potatoes, chopped
Half of a small head green cabbage, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon dried thyme
Salt and pepper to taste
1 teaspoon olive oil
1. Toss the beans and broth into the biggest pot you own. Heat them to a boil.
2. Reduce the heat to medium.
3. Throw all of the rest of the stuff in there except for the olive oil. You're going to drizzle that over top at the very end because it's what Spaniards do.
4. Allow to simmer until the vegetables are soft. It took mine about 25-30 minutes to be perfect and happy and all of that. Note: If it seems that you need more liquid, you can add water or more broth. I promise it won't hurt anything.
5. Drizzle the olive oil over top.
6. Serve with crusty bread. It's the right thing to do.
