And no, I won't share.
The jig is up.. we all know I like food and that often my blog centers around the delicacies of what ever region I am fortunate enough to find myself in. Thus many photos of food to follow en suite..
This is my/the life.... the fish lady at La Boqueria and I have a date tomorrow, she just doesn't know it yet. In spanish two separate words exist for referring to fish that are alive in the sea and fish that are well, dead on your plate: pez or pescado. Those that know me well know I don't enjoy consuming things that look like they did when they were alive. Correct. I will not eat lobster from it's shell no matter how much butter you lather in it. In fact, I don't relish thinking about anything on my plate as being alive once upon a time. On a past family trip to Spain I infamously referred to a plate of shelled seafood as a "shrimpy massacre" and was nearly made sick by the site of my then 3 year old sister violently tearing apart the bodies of those sea crawlers. I've matured (only slightly) and now can handle shelling my own shrimp. However, I do particularly like the fact that spanish offers a linguistic form of denial.