Barcelona Hotels Articles

April 22, 2010

Humor: Trying new foods

This slippery writer found a way to fiddle about foods and the “trying” of such, while wearing his gonzo hat and interpreting, with purpose, the “Trying” of the subject’s ” ‘Trying’ new foods” as devoid of the often septic task of eating the food in question. I try with my eyes sometimes. Some people say that, in fact, you can eat with your eyes. I say no such crazy thing. However, I am a subscriber to the notion that one can and often does, “try” new foods with their old eyes. In this word collection, I will convey the terror I endured when I was served shrimp in Spain. Yes, my dears, I was served shrimp … with the heads still connected! Looking right at me, no less… I dally. Here’s the deal:

My incident that led to a taut eyelock between myself and a dead sea pest began as a story of this type often does, with alcohol. Yes, a friend and my self strode through the rocky streets of Barcelona drinking super wine and chatting with the upbeat locals in Spanish that (remarkably) got better with each drink until we were outright fluent by drink cuatro (or seis, yo no se). Anyway, we ventured into a storefront that seemed ready and able to provide the necessary sustenance to prolong our night of revelry. It was a tapas bar, and we were content (a tad more tepid than my initial glee in finding a topless bar). Those who were under the employ of this petite establishment wore black, lots of it. Our mood was still gay. Food was on the way.

Now, every good American knows that late night food selection consists of a family of foods that look something like your liver at the time you ingest them. Fries, stale pizza, maybe a burger that resembles meat (if you’re lucky) are par for course. So, imagine my jubilation when there before me, in purple font, on the menu, stood proudly the letter that formed the words “Cooked Shrimp”. Sick joy rattled my drunken brain and, hence, frightened it into a stare (which was promptly erased from my face when the waitress arrived and yelled at me. Well, maybe it wasn’t at me (maybe she didn’t yell). Remember, I did not speak this language. Oh, and I was a bit drunk.

It was my turn and I proudly proclaimed that my order would be “Cooked Shrimp”. Ole! Despite a few strange looks from the table to my rear (I had unwittingly stroked the gentleman who sat behind me on his tush while fumbling for my wallet in my tush pocket – to check on my funds), I was on top of the world. I sat and melted into wonderful

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