Right, let’s talk about Spanish food. Or, more accurately, let’s talk about how I’ve completely failed at Spanish food and why that’s probably the best thing that could’ve happened.
I moved here thinking I’d be all “look at me, I’m an expert in Mediterranean cuisine now.” Nah. Turns out, it’s not as simple as shoving a tortilla española in the pan and expecting some kind of culinary miracle to happen. Spoiler: it doesn’t.
Take tortilla española, for example. The first time I made it, I thought I’d nailed it. I was like, “This is the Spanish dish, how hard can it be?” It was basically scrambled eggs with potatoes. Easy, right? Wrong. That shit was flat. I mean, flat in every sense. It looked like something you’d feed a dog, and the texture? I’m still not sure what happened there. It wasn’t even a proper tortilla, just a sad, sad attempt at one. But I ate it. I ate it because, well, it was food. And you know what? I was proud of myself for getting something in the oven at least.
And don’t even get me started on tapas. People act like tapas is some kind of sophisticated experience. They order ten little plates, and it’s all supposed to be these delicate, refined bites. Meanwhile, I’m over here thinking I’ve ordered dinner and then realize my “meal” is just a bunch of tiny things. A jamón slice. A few olives. A bit of cheese. I’m just sitting there thinking, “I can’t eat this for dinner. Where’s the rest of the meal?” Tapas, I’ve learned, is the illusion of a meal. You get tiny portions and end up eating until your stomach’s like, “What the hell? Is this all I get?”
The Real Struggles with Spanish Meals
Then there’s the timing of everything. How do people survive lunch at 2pm? What am I supposed to do with myself until then? I’m used to getting my lunch at 12, like a normal human being. Not here. Lunch comes later, at a pace that doesn’t make sense. You’re expected to just sit and eat, and by the time 4pm rolls around, your entire afternoon is gone, and you’re still stuffed from lunch. I’m looking around, trying to get anything done in the afternoon, but I’m half asleep because of this goddamn “2pm lunch” thing that’s apparently a cultural experience.
And dinner? Oh, dinner. Why is it at 10pm? By that point, I’m so ready to crash. But no, that’s when the real meal happens. I look at the clock, thinking, “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m going to eat this late? I’m already considering going to bed.” But you eat anyway, and then wake up in the morning with that I ate too late stomach ache.
The Stuff I’ve Tried… And Regretted
I thought I’d get through it all—paella, churros, gazpacho, all the usual suspects. But you know what? I’m done with churros. Not because they’re bad, but because I’m sick of people offering me churros at midnight. Everyone here eats churros, like it’s some kind of magical Spanish rite of passage, and they dip them in chocolate like it’s going out of style. I had one, then two, then I found myself eating them at 12 am. I don’t even like them that much. But they were there, and I’m a sucker.
And gazpacho—people love this shit. I tried it, and it’s just… cold tomato soup. It’s not bad, but it’s not “wow, I’m so glad I made this.” It’s just there. In front of you. You’re trying to be authentic and pretend you’ve somehow unlocked some hidden Spanish treasure, but deep down you’re thinking, “Did I just drink a vegetable?”
Why I’m Okay with Failing at Spanish Food
Here’s the thing, though: I’m grateful for all this mess. Honestly. It’s a reminder that I’m living in a place where I don’t know all the answers, and that’s fine. I’m not here to be perfect. I’m not here to figure out the right way to eat and live, because guess what? There isn’t one. The food here isn’t about perfection. It’s not about getting it right. It’s about figuring it out as you go along.
Sure, I’ll keep trying. I’ll make paella one day, maybe. But it’s gonna suck at first, and that’s the point. It’s supposed to suck. It’s supposed to be chaotic, messy, and that’s how it goes. Because, in the end, it’s not about eating like the Spanish do. It’s about being here, learning, and making a mess of it along the way.
And you know what? I’m okay with it. I’m not going to be the perfect Spanish food expert. But that’s just more room for me to get lost in the mess, and maybe… just maybe… enjoy it a little more.
Anyone Else Messing Up Spanish Food Like Me?
If you’re out there, pretending like you know what you’re doing with tortillas, tapas, and paella, but you’re secretly Googling “What the hell is botifarra?”, just know you’re not alone. We’re in this food disaster together. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.