DePedro

Mmmmhhh. It's been a long summer, and I will have to find some time for a long post about it, and a couple more about restaurants I have liked lately. But first, and before the hangover is gone, I want to write about a band I saw yesterday in Chicago, in a concert at the Instituto Cervantes. The are called DePedro, and I hadn't heard about them before. Living so far from Spain it's difficult to keep track of new bands, especially if they play in the indie circuit. I went by chance, and I loved it. My only complain is that being in an Auditorium, we weren't able to dance. Because some of their songs have contagious rhythms that your body is going to dance to even if you are sitting down, the lack of space was unfortunate. I liked the tunes, the lyrics, and the playfulness they instilled to their live show. It's always challenging to play in front of a small audience, but as we say in Spain, "se metieron al público en el bolsillo". Everyone seemed to love the band, the concert, and the optimistic tone of their songs. And they were pretty cool personally. We went for a beer at the Green Mill (which deserves an entry on its own) afterwards, and seeing a seasoned musician enjoy someone else's music so much is always refreshing. I'll leave a link to a beautiful song they perform with Russian Red, one of the trendiest songwriters in Spain right now. Go listen to them! You won't be disappointed, and in their albums you will be able to find music for all kind of moments. From dance worthy tunes to boleros. They are definitely joining my ITunes.
PD: credits to Natalia for sending me the video.
PPD: María, I hope we go together to another concert in Chicago. I missed you last night.

Are we all Apple crazy or what?

I certainly am. I'm trying to buy an IPad for my parents 50th wedding anniversary (I know it doesn't sound romantic, but I'm going to load it with pictures from the last 50 years). I've gone several times to the Apple store to no avail, they don't have the model I'm looking for. I've called every day this week to check if the received it, since they don't put items on hold. And today I finally got a positive answer. So I got quickly dressed and put my newborn on the carrier only for him to spit on me big time. I got him out, got rid of my bra and t-shirt, and put the Baby Bjorn back on. Only when I was by the door did I realize that I forgot to put another t-shirt on. I was in such a hurry that I almost exited my apartment half naked. I even drove with the Baby Bjorn still attached to me (don't worry, I put the baby on his car seat). I can't say much about the comfort level of that thing when worn underneath a belt.
And that IPad? By the time Ia arrived to the store, 15 minutes after my call, they were gone. Sigo buscando.

Going back to the mommyhood issues (and smoking)

As you see, I either don't post in months or do it twice in the same day. Yesterday was a crazy day, from start to finish. With two weeks left before we hop on a plane to Spain, i thought I could spend the day working on a project that was due on Christmas and that I have to finish by this weekend. I poured my tea, set up my laptop, had my newborn sleeping, and had been working for a good hour when the telephone rang. It was my four year old's school. He wasn't hurt. He was hurting others and I needed to go pick him up. I hadn't smoked since I got pregnant almost one year ago, but all I was able to think about at that time was a cigarette. And a glass of scotch. I don't even like whiskey, but it sounds dramatic for 12:30 pm.

I didn't do any, instead I put my baby in his Baby Bjorn (which I hate, but that belongs in another post), drove to the school crying hysterically, picked him up without a word (I probably should have talked to someone, but keeping my tears behind my sunglasses is all I could do by then) and I drove back home, letting the tears go down again. Actually they got worse when I was told that he had to stay home the next day too. I'm sure that at six weeks postpartum hormones are responsible for my reaction, but you have to admit that having your son expelled from school at the tender age of four is quite shocking. Where does he go from here? Straight to juvenile, and then jail? Will this stay on his academic record? What the heck was he thinking? What the heck were the teacher, principal, etc thinking to let the situation escalate to this point? Is he ok? What am I doing wrong?

At that time I was just mad as hell at the kiddo. I couldn't even talk to him for the first hour. He is been in his room since. But at least I extracted some information from him. His frustration was due to the rejection he felt from his peers (I know that classmates not wanting to see your really cool Bakugan may seem petty, but for a child this age it can be self-steem crushing). Knowing that, sending him home doesn't seem like the best solution, because it only makes him feel more rejected. God knows what will happen on Monday when he goes back. If were him I would be rather angry at all those people who kept punishing him without asking what was upsetting him. Thankfully he is not me, but a much better version, and probably he will just be fine. Until then, he is grounded. In his room during the hours when he should have been at school, no TV, no candy, no playing with him.

And of course we will have a little talk with the school about their handling of the situation. I don't want to turn into one of this moms who try to justify whatever bad behaviour their kids have. I'm not. My son's hitting and kicking was not acceptable under any circumstances. But I think they handled the situation poorly, to say the least. Sending him home for the rest of the day made sense. The second day at home sounds more like a tantrum thrown by a principal who is not used to disobedience. Leaving a preschooler alone in the corridor feet away from a door that leads directly into a very busy street doesn't seem safe. Doing it four times when it obviously is making him more frustrated and nervous and aggressive without trying to figure out what's the root of the problem doesn't seem very pedagogical. I guess we have some thinking to do.

And I ended up smoking that cigarette and two more, but it was much later, when I went out with my girlfriends. And just after spending a solid hour doing Internet research and making sure how long I had to wait before nursing in order for the nicotine to leave my organism. Hopefully, I won't need to smoke again anytime soon. Unless I'm sent to the Principal's office.

Fifty Words

A long time ago, back when I lived in a small city is Spain, I used to go to the theater quite often. A very good theater festival and a father an brother in law who were in politics and passed me the tickets they didn't want helped to feed my drama hunger.

Since I moved here I think i have attended four plays. In eight years. Sad, isn't it? The last one was yesterday night, with three friends, in a very cozy tiny theater in the north of Chicago called Profiles Theater. The play was Fifty Words, directed by Joe Jahraus. The theater itself is very interesting, a tiny place, probably not more than fifty seats, each half set on one side of the stage. It makes it feel very intimate. Which in a play that gets as intimate as this one, may be too close. Specially if you are in first row and things start flying out of the refrigerator (I forgot to mention that the whole action happens in a Kitchen) and break a mere foot from your own feet. Despite the risk it involves, I still loved the ambiance it gave to the night.

The play shows us a night in the life of a married couple, in particular the first one they spend alone since their son was born nine years before. The absence of their son makes them talk about things not related to him, and the underlying problems the couple faces start to surface. Infidelity, bankruptcy, anger, frustration, all drive the action to a climatic, violent and very graphic sex scene. I won't spoil the end, since I'm not a drama critic and I don't have the right to do so. It's worth going to see it and find out for yourselves.

The performances were both good, although i found Darrell W. Cox's Adam way more credible than Katherine Keberlein's Jan. Still, she has a difficult character to perform, going from coldness to giggles to rage in mere minutes.

I just hope this turns into a regular outing, because I really enjoyed the play, the company and the night out.

La vida de los peces

When I lived in Spain (single and childless) I used to go to the movies quite often, about twice a week. Since I moved to the States, got married, had kids, that doesn't happen any longer. Which is shame, because I really love film. But nowadays, I watch more children's movies in the theater than anything else. That's what makes occasions like yesterday special. About to give birth any day, and knowing that going out won't be an option in a while, I went to watch a movie from the Chicago Latino Film Festival with some friends. And it was great. From time to time I like a movie so much that I become sort of obsessed with it: I constantly listen to the soundtrack, research the director/actors and recommend it to everyone. My last addition to that list is La vida de los peces. It's a Chilean movie by young director Matías Bize (I want to think he is young because we were born on the same year). And it was great from start to finish, the setting, the characters, the performances, the screenplay, the music, the rhythm. If a drama can make me laugh hysterically, it has to be good. And there were hilarious moments in the plot, probably bizarre moments from an American point of view.

It tells the story of Andrés, a journalist who travels around the world and goes back to his native Chile after ten years. There he meets his old friends, and his former girlfriend, with whom he is still deeply in love. It is a great love story, and a very realistic one. Most of us are cowards regarding love, to scared of losing security over it. That's the lesson here, if there is one.

But apart from the great screenplay, technically is a very good movie. Bize manages to create an atmosphere that doesn't end up being claustrophobic even though the whole movie happens in a house. But the way the camera follows the characters around the rooms and garden, and the use of the focus and lighting makes it look like a magic underwater world.

And on top of everything else, and without wanting to sound frivolous (let's blame it on my nine months of pregnancy) the actor ho portrays Andrés, Santiago Cabrera, is as hot a s they come.

I hadn't been so impressed since Io sono l'amore, which I watched last summer. They share some common elements, and a topic, but at the same time couldn't be more different.

If you can, watch it. It's absolutely worth your time and money. I just wish Spain would produce movies as good as this one.

Da blizzard... or so they say

I have lived in Chicago for seven years, which means it's not the first time I hear about apocalyptic weather conditions, whether they are thunderstorms, tornadoes, rain... This time it's a winter blizzard, apparently monster size. I have spent all morning tracking different news pages, plus the University where I teach and my son's school. By now I know that De Paul is closed at least until Thursday, while my son is still in school. And all I can think about is a big fat chocolate cake from Bittersweet. It is one of my favorite cake shops in Chicago, and they have the most luscious velvety moist bittersweet chocolate cake I have ever tried. So yes, weather services, I'm going to brace myself, and while I wait for those flurries to come, I'm going to drive there on my way to pick little L from school, and get one. In case we cannot leave the house in the next couple of days. A pregnant woman shouldn't deny herself a craving, don't you think?

Family unfriendly Grounds

I'm mad. Very mad. Have you ever felt like you should have made a fuss about something and you didn't? Well, I did that today. And I have been left feeling like I should have punched the guy in the face. You know, that's my mama grizzly bear coming out. I was with "not that little anymore L" at Family Grounds, a local playground/coffee shop, when he was grabbed by the owner, walked across the room to where I was in a very violent manner, aggressively scolded, and left in tears. Regardless of what happened before, that kind of behavior is unacceptable from someone who works in contact with children. Whatever the kid is doing, you never grab a kid like that, especially if the kid is someone else's. On top of that I have trouble believing his accusations. I didn't see what was going on the exact moment before he brought L to me because the room was so packed that I couldn't see across it (probably too crowded, actually). I'm sure something happen, I'm not the kind of mom who thinks her son is a constant angel. But I find it hard to believe that he was banging other kids's heads against a wall. That would be a first for someone who calls me when another child pushes or hits him. The fact that he also accused him for interrupting his guitar performance endless times makes me even more hesitant. He had to stop twice, and the first time it was for no good reason. A girl grabbed a bongo from L's hands and he took it back. But of course the guy dropped his guitar to grab the toy from my son in return. Let's remember that this in an adult who should be trained in dealing with kids. Grabbing toys from them is a great way to teach through example. The second time was when the incident happened. I guess that, actually, if you don't want to be interrupted, you shouldn't perform for kids. They are not a calm and quiet audience.

Needless to say, I will never go back nor do I recommend it. A pity, since is one of the only places where you can take your kids to play in the cold Chicago winter. But since I don't think it is safe anymore, I won't go back. I don't think little L would want too, either.

Dream

I have a dream, and my dream doesn't include skyscrapers and one hour commutes to work. My dream happens in a house in the mountains, back in Spain, which happens to be my parents house. In it, my husband and I decide to turn our lives around and go back home to take over my parents land, to become agricultors and follow the steps of my father, who had to retire six years ago. In my dream my kids run free on the backyard, and build castles with straw. They pick apples from our apple trees, and help me grow tomatoes. They go to the mountains to pick up mushrooms in the Fall, a Christmas tree in December, flowers in the spring, berries in the summer. They are happy and healthy and always surrounded by family.
For now, it's just a dream. But I know it's possible: that's how i grew up. And the older I get the more I miss it. For now, I will keep trying to convince my husband (an actuary who doesn't really like the countryside and maintains that he cannot live without a decent amount of pollution) that it's a good idea.
Don't get me wrong, I love Chicago, and I love the USA. But I miss my family a lot, and my parents cannot travel here for medical reasons, which makes my stay here more difficult every year. I will keep reporting on how my campaign goes. Wish me luck. Because sometimes, dreams come true.

Mexique

Mexique
1529 W Chicago Ave

Here goes my first restaurant review. I owe everybody a warning: I'm neither a trained cook or journalist, just a plain aficionada. I guess in Chicago I could be considered a foodie, in Spain I would be considered normal. I like food, from the garden to the table setting, including the cooking process. And I feel at ease when I'm in my kitchen. I'm at my happiest. Which is how Carlos Gaytan must feel at his, otherwise his food wouldn't be as good as it is. I dine out often and there hasn't been a restaurant that caused such a good impression in a long time. The first thing being the space. From a Mexican-French restaurant you either expect your usual colorful decoration or some old fashion French. Mexique is none, it's a long sleek space, decorated with gusto and care, minimalist without feeling cold. It made us feel comfortable since we entered, despite the fact that our toddler was with us. They seemed kid friendly and accommodating from the beginning, which is welcomed in the quality restaurant circuit, where so many people are uptight at best regarding kids.
Our server was prompt to take our drink orders and bring them to the table. We were there for brunch, and the offerings were varied and original, as well as fulfilling. I order the Huarache de carne asada, and it was delicious. Riquísimo. The most tender carne asada I have ever tasted on a soft corn masa infused with rosemary. It melted in my mouth. And the chef respected my wishes. I like my meat well done, and he managed to do it without charring it or making it loose it's tenderness. Not an easy accomplishment, I can tell you. And the creme brulee we ordered for dessert was soft and delicate, as it should be, with a very fine cape of caramel con top. I loved it and I'm not a dessert person. I can't wait to go there for dinner. Hopefully, it will be soon, because the place is a keeper. Try it, because they deserve to stay around. And definite;ly bring your kids.

Restaurants

For a long time I have been writing random posts about parenting in this blog, and sometimes I review music or films. With the Fall approaching, and the purchase of my first lap top one month away, I would love to start doing this more often (now that I actually go to the movies :)) and add restaurant reviews. I have been looking around, and if I have found restaurant critic focused on kid friendliness, the subjects were family restaurants. I respect them and like them, but we like food too much to limit ourselves in that way. We have always liked cooking and eating out, and we included little L in our outings at the tender age of 2 months. Of course, we waited half a year to offer him food from our plates. Only in rare occasions he stays at home, like when we try to go on a date. Otherwise, he has been in Mexican, Indian, Italian, Chinese, Japanese, Ethiopian, Peruvian, German, French, Thai, Spanish and American restaurants. And in all of them he found something he liked. And it didn't come from the kids menu, from which we rarely order (why? It's basically Mac & Cheese and Chicken nuggets). At the age of three he is an adventurous eater who will try pretty much anything. His only pickiness is that he doesn't like cheese. But for me it was an acquired taste too, I didn't like it until five years ago.
Bottom line, I think it's totally OK to take kids to restaurants. But some restaurants don't agree, but don't worry, in the Chicago and Vitoria area, I will try to figure that out for you.
I'm also thinking about starting a blog in Spanish. Why not? I'm already taking two jobs, trying to go back to graduate school and taking care of my toddler and husband, so why not add something else in the mix, to give it a little shake? We'll see.

La Furia Roja

"¡Campeones, campeones, oé oé oé!" This is one of the chants we sang to the top of our lungs on Sunday. The other one would go "¡Yo soy español, español, español!" or ¡A por ellos, oé, a por ellos, oé!" And when Iniesta score the goal that gave us the victory I cried. I cried because we won, and I cried because as we did I was able to jump up and down wearing the Spanish national team's T-shirt, and scream "¡España!". And I was able to do all of this because I was in a bar in the middle of Chicago, 5000 miles from home. Back there, I would have never dared to do it. Where I come from, you don't display Spanish flag. You don't scream "¡Viva España!". You don't sing pasodobles. You don't walk down the street wearing your red and yellow T-shirt. You don't usually celebrate the victories of the national team. Where I come from, there is a beautiful land full of wonderful people and some snakes. And those snakes made it unbearable for me to live there. I don't want to live in a place where I cannot say what I think, as much as I miss it. I love going back there, because I haven't found yet a region more beautiful than mine, the Basque Country. If you haven't been there go without fear, it's an amazing experience, don't get me wrong. I love it, and because I love it so much it hurts even more that some people would say I'm not Basque enough. I am. But I am Spanish enough too. And today, still in disbelief like the rest of the country, I smile, because I was able to see on TV Spanish flags being flown in my hometown. That freedom made me happy. I hope we learn some more lessons from those humble kids who made history today. We need more Casillas, and Puyols, and Iniestas, and Villas, and Xabis and Xavis, who don't care that much where they come from, they just want to play well and defend their colors. And maybe, after they win, kiss their girlfriends.

De McDonalds y libre albedrío

Libre albedrío is the Spanish equivalent of personal choice, individual responsibility. We all know what McDonalds stands for in any language. Or don't we? I read in disbelief in the Chicago Tribune that several associations are trying to ban McDonals from giving toys with Happy Meals, and they even want to retire Ronald McDonald. How stupid are we getting? Do they really think McDonalds is responsible for childhood obesity? No, my friends, I don't think so. McDonalds doesn't put a gun on your head and make you eat a Big Mac. It's a choice you make. I make it some times, for that matter. My son loves the place, and we go once a month or so. I'm perfectly fine with that since he eats at least five pieces of fruit every day, milk, meat, fish, vegetables... He eats pretty much anything, and that's why I can go to McDonalds occasionally with a certain piece of mind. On top of that he is a firecracker who spends his days running, swimming, playing around... and yes, watching some TV.
The problem is not TV itself or big fast food chains. The problem is the amount, and that's within our control. The problem is the Big Mac followed by the mac and cheese, followed by the chicken nuggets followed by seven hours of TV. I have been extremely surprised to see how the same people who ban their kids from eating candy will serve them for dinner a gooey serving of the orangy stuff, or just pop processed food in a microwave.
If there is something I didn't adopt from the American way of raising kids, is the nutritional part. Since he was 1 Little L has eaten from whatever we eat. By age three, he eats pretty much everything but cheese, is adventurous about trying new exotic foods, and even helps me cook and plant vegetables and flowers. I want him to know where his food comes from. I was raised in the Spanish countryside, so I always did. And it does the trick. They will eat what they cook. But for that being possible, the parents have to cook in the first place. And stop blaming McDonalds for all of our culinary sins. I would be happy to post easy nutritious recipes that don't cost a fortune. And you can find cheap fine produce in many places, from Trader Joe's to Pete's to Mexican markets. Just give it a try. And enjoy your occasional Big Mac, Whopper, or the likes.

Of soccer and friends (two equally important parts of Spain's national identity)

First, don't call it soccer in front of Europeans. For us, it's football. Fútbol. And Spain lost today. Luckily, I didn't watch the game on my own, I had three nice guys with me, Little L included. It would have been worse to watch all alone. You have to understand that in Spain fútbol is more a religion than a sport. Even if you don't like it, you will know a bit about it. It doesn't matter where you come from, whether you are Catalonian, Basque or Castilian, you have watched your fair share of games. And when the Spanish team plays, you root for them, unless you are an extremely radical nationalist. So I did today, holding my red scarf, and smoking at ten in the morning. It was too early to drink, a shame considering how I needed a drink. But it says in page number 37 of the mommy rules that you don't drink while watching your kid. At least not until lunchtime. That's the other thing about seeing the game from far away, the time frame, even if you watch the game live, it's very different. Fútbol goes well with beer and olives, not pound cake and coffee. But I watched, feeling even more Spanish from the other side of the Atlantic. And I suffered. And I got upset. But we still have two games to go. And hopefully more friends with whom we can watch them.
Which takes me to my second topic of the day. Friendship is extremely important to your average Spaniard. Again, it doesn't matter which region we come from, we are gregarious people. Maybe the bond is deeper in the north, but all over we move in groups. We even mate in groups. There is nothing like American dating in Spain. There, you go out with your friends, and if you meet a guy you like, you will see him at the end of the night. If you really really like him, you'll have coffee or watch a movie the day after. And if you are lucky, it may eventually evolve into a relationship.
Today I had the chance to spend time with a friend I hadn't really talked to in a while. And boy, did I miss it. Some of the best moments of my life were enjoyed with friends. I ended up bonding with my husband thanks to one of them. And when my newborn was sent to the NICU, it was my friends who were there for me. Not to talk about the many long classes they made more enjoyable, the wild nights out, and all the cries of youth. I've lived with and through my friends. And today more than ever, I miss every single one of them. Most live abroad, and three of them are leaving Chicago this year. Which saddens me. Hopefully, I'll meet some new ones, I'm not the quiet type. But today, while I look to the east into the sky over the lake, I'm reminded of how much I would like to be able to pick up the phone and call someone seven hours ahead of me. It's this time of the day, too late for Chicago, too early for Europe, when I feel the loneliest. So from here, I make a toast for them. Os echo de menos.

Ipad

Three months

It´s the time that went by. I had a life for those three months, and I will tell about it in my next post, since my visit to Spain deserves one for itself. But now I want to talk about today. It´s one of those sunny/rainy days in chicago´s summer. I like them, you can do so many things with them... like iron, go to Target, run some errands, blog, read, walk for a little bit, organize closets, enjoy silence while son naps and hubby is in storage locker. To warm to cook, but so many other things are waiting to be done.

I feel productive these days. I keep myself as busy as I can. I decided to spend his last summer before starting school with my little L who, at three years of age, is no so little anymore. I am so tired at night that I go to sleep around eleven. My plans for the summer? Park, pool, read, beach, picnic, concert, beer, paella, white wine, friends, guests, pizza al fresco, play, read some more, maybe even write and blog.

What did I do with the three months of the title? Spent half of them in Spain, got myself a job for the Fall semester, learned that my son had been accepted at a school we really like, reconnected with friends in both sides of the Atlantic, hosted one of them for a month, spent a day at the Spa (Friday, which explains my relaxed mood), lost ten pounds, had a haircut, sunbathed, swam, saw a couple of castles, made my parents happy for some weeks, had some weeks of happiness myself, saw how my son potty trained himself...

I could keep going, but this is starting to be boring already. I promise a post about our Spanish trip with pictures included. And another one about traveling with kids. But for now, you know i am alive. And kicking ;)

US 1 - SPAIN 0

No, I´m not talking about soccer. I´m talking about motherhood. Every time I come to Spain I´m puzzled by how badly behaved Spanish kids are. They are bratsy, unrespectful, and mischievious at best. And I´m coming to realize why. While American moms spend their time educating their kids, not caring that much about their houses, Spanish moms invest most of their time dusting and ironing, while they expect their kids to learn on their own while they do that. I definitely prefer the North American way. Actually, I know some well behaved kids in my home country. But their moms belong to my generation, the first on in which some of us don't care that much about our houses.
If I have to choose between cooking for one hour to put a decent meal on the table or dusting for ten minutes, I prefer cooking any day of the week. If I take my son to the park, I don't need to have my hair styled before, and I will not wear heels. A pair of jeans should do. And I don't pretend my son to play without getting filthy. He will. And he will be a happy filthy child. But I prefer that to the sad looking little faces I have seen sometimes, strapped to their strollers so they don't ruin their clothes.
As I said, I'm with the US on this one. Happily.

The Right Ons, and some other Spanish bands...

...one of them being Amaral. When I lived in Spain I used to go to many concerts. I lived in a mid size city, which means I would pretty much go see anything that decided to stop by. Since I moved to Chicago, all the concerts I have gone to were big theater or stadium performances, the kind you watch in a chair, specially if you go with my husband.
Yesterday three bands played at Chicago's Double Door: the very famous Spanish band Amaral, whom I had already seen in concert more than six years ago in Vitoria, Maika Makovski, and The Right Ons. The Double Door is dark and red, small and cozy. And for seven dollars, it cannot be beaten. The opening act was Makovski, who sang in English, but threw so much metal and punk in her performance that it almost ruined it. Double Door is not big enough for that. Still, I will check her out, she deserves another chance.
Then The Right Ons came to the stage. They were also singing in English, but they were energetic, very good at the instruments, and with so many influences that I wouldn't know where to start. There is rock in them, but also funk, blues, and even a little bit of soul. The are good, very good, and their performance was a stand out. They were obviously having a great time, and the public was able to feel it, they made us dance. Álvaro, the main singer, even ended up walking through the bar as if it was his very personal runway. We bought their CDs, and I will be reporting on that. Their last album will be released in the US on March 23.
I am greatly surprised to see that the English of the Spanish youth has improved quite a bit. Both Makovski and The Right Ons were perfectly comfortable speaking and singing in a language foreign to them.
When Amaral came to the stage, you could tell she wasn't that comfortable speaking English to the audience. Which didn't matter much, because it was mainly Spaniards and other Spanish speakers. They a very good job, as I had seen them do years ago. They performed songs from all their albums to an audience that dutifully knew the lyrics, sang along and dance when necessary. It was good to see them again, as I still think that they sound much better in concert than recording. She is a good original dancer who knows how to engage the public. And the deserve tons of praise for, used to fill stadiums in Spain, try as hard for a tiny audience in a foreign club.
On the personal note, I had more fun than I have had in years. I went with some friends, run into some others there, and ended up drinking five Coronas (the most alcohol that has entered my system in years), smoking quite a bit, and eating tacos at 1 pm. I have to find out where that was, because they were good. I danced, I sang, I jumped, I met people, and I felt like myself, my old self for the first time in a very long time. Maybe this is exactly what I need. Un poquito de marcha.

XOCO

Months after they opened, with tons of media buzz and fuss, I finally got to dine at XOCO, the latest Rick Bayless franchise. Being a foreigner sometimes lessens my reaction to people who are very famous here, but mainly unknown in the rest of the world, Oprah being the main example (she is hardly known in Spain). It would be the case with Bayless too. He is huge in Chicago, even more since the Obamas listed Topolobambo as one of their favorite restaurants. But he is completely unknown in my home country, so I wasn't in a rush to wait three hours for a couple of churros.

I'm glad I waited, because on the day we went, a Wednesday around 8 pm, there wasn't a queue, and we were even able to sit on a table without wait. I ordered the carnitas soup and a Cuban sandwich, and both were delicious. I have to warn that the soup was so spicy that it made me cry. But I still ate it, because it was great, with clear broth and fresh little pieces of fresh avocado which helped me handle the heat. I have to say that the sandwich was the best Cuban one I have had since they closed the Che Café on Taylor. If you have never tried a Cuban sandwich, head out right now, and try one. They are hearty, warm, and fulfilling, a whole meal on their on.
Of course, we couldn't leave without trying the chocolate con churros. The chocolate wasn't bad, but I still think the one at Angel Food bakery is the best in Chicago (I will write about it the next time I have brunch there). But the churros, oh my, the churros were perfect. They were the same kind of churros you can find for breakfast in Madrid, thinner and shorter than the Mexican version you usually find in the streets of Chicago. The only Mexican touch they had was the cinnamon, which I could live without. But still, thy are the best churros in town.
My take? Even thought it is a little bit over the price of your usual soup and sandwich place, it's definitely worth a visit, and I'm sure I will be back soon. It's a great place to go with friends. You could go on a date, but it's not particularly romantic. Still, the food was fantastic. Choose your timing wisely, though, if you don't want to wait for hours. Oh, and since a lot of people asked... No, Rick Bayless wasn't there. But since I didn't have any intention of eating him on a sandwich, that wasn't a problem.

Los abrazos rotos

Six months late, due to the fact that I live in the States, I finally watched Los abrazos rotos, Pedro Almodóvar's last film. I saw it in a movie theater (rare happening to working moms) with some friends, one Spanish, and the other three Americans. The hated the movie. I didn't. I don't think it was his best movie, but at least it is still much better than 90% of the stuff that's released around here. I liked the story, and the photography. Those moonish shots of Lanzarote are beautiful. There are just so many new themes you can treat in a movie. Maybe people are used to Almodóvar exploring the darkest nooks of life. He doesn't here, it's just another movie about the same old triangle. But I think the actors do a pretty good job, even Penelope Cruz, whom I am growing to like (i didn't like her until Volver, among other things because she has a pretty annoying voice, which tone Almodovar helped her control). I love how Lluis Homar portrays your typical Spanish middle aged guy, and how he doesn't let the blindness of the character drive the movie.
The fact that the director uses parts of the screenplay of Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios, the movie that made him worldwide famous, is very interesting, specially when he changes some of the plot points. Daring to pay homage to himself is brave of him. So is the fact that takes his characters out of his geographical comfort zone, flying them to Lanzarote.
It is definitely a movie worth seeing, and I will need a second screening, once it comes out in DVD, to be able to appreciate the little detail, which is what usually makes Almodóvar a genius. I may be becoming American, since I appear to agree with most American critics, but not with my filmie (to movies what foodies are to food) friends. Go watch it.

¡Mierda!

Literally. I mean, poop all over my living room. You don't realize how much you love someone until you clean their shit out of your white carpet floor. And everywhere else, for that matter. How can someone so small produce so much waste? Then you wonder about global warming... My son is partly responsible! Poor thing, it wasn't his fault. He isn't potty trained yet, and my first thought was that he took off his diaper and did it on purpose. But I was wrong, it was just that the amount of poop he produced was so unbelievably huge the diaper couldn't hold it. I gave him a quick bath, and he kept thanking me. No wonder...
Well, considering he is 31 months old, it took a long time to have the first stinky accident, with it's accompanying funny story.