Grandes Pelotas de Fuegoooooo

The night started off as all good nights usually do: kicking back a few mojitos in a fun bar and getting one round for free. What could get any better than that? Just wait...
We met up with Mabel's mexican friend at a different place with tons of music to dance to and a transvestite DJ: clearly two telltale components for the makings of a fun night!We spent the whole night dancing like we were trying out for the lead in a remake of Flashdance and I unfortunately decided to forgo my usual vodka tonics for something to help keep my energy up- red bull and vodka. I am surprised I didn't try and bust into a full on backhandspring because I truly felt like an Olympian the entire night, thank God they didn't play the Galcian Muñeira because i would have made a serious ass out of myself -just think of the amazing heights I could have achieved with my kicks! For those of you that are not from Jersey, the Galician capital of the US, the muñeira is this crazy irish-jig-like dance the Galicians do when they are happy (i.e. weddings?) and when they are hammered(i.e. everyone we hung with in Gabi's town this summer?) In Gabi's town in Galicia they played it at least once a night in all of the barsNow that I think about it the Muñeira is more complex than a jig, it actually looks a bit like a mix between Irish step dancing and (those of you that were once in eight grade will know what I am talking about) the rogger rabbit.
Anyway, high on Red bull I joined the gang on our next adventure- the mexicans (they suddenly multiplied and there were now around 4)wanted to take us somewhere really fun! And together we forged on as they led us to the strangest place I have ever been to or will ever be again...
We stop in front of a steel door with a tiny rectangular window in it, exactly like those speakeasy joints that were around during the Prohibition. One of the Mexicans utters some sketchy password and miraculously the steel door creaks openand a whole new side of Madrid unfolded before our bloodshot eyes!
A small staircase leads you into the underbelly of the Madrid late-night scene, soon we were seated at a long communal table surrounded by complete strangers and before I knew what was happening a beer was shoved into my hand. At my side, oneof the Mexicans happily ate a bowl full of what looked like spaghetti- was I hallucinating?Then, the music begins.
A tall dark spaniard with perfect english starts jamming away on an upright piano on some sort of make shift stage area that everyone's undivided attention seems to now be intently focused on. He is standing up and playing the hell out of the pianoand singing his heart out to songs you would never DREAM of hearing in a sketchy Madrid basement bar!
"Piano Man", "Great Balls of Fire", "Hey Jude", I think he even played a BonJovi song from the Slippery When Wet album- the most amazing part was that EVERYONE in the place was singing along as loud as they possibly could!! Song after song, we sang and swayed- beers in hand, bonding with our unkown neighbors in the unique comraderie that emerges among perfect strangers when listening to American oldies.
Mabel and I were transported to another era singing about stuff we hadn't even thought about since high school.It all came back to me as I screamed out lyrics, secretly proud of my perfect English pronunciation in a roomful of Spaniards and of course our own band of Mexicans. The night, or morning, I should say seemed to go on forever- and finally when Gina took home her pay for loooove for the last time and the big wheels couldn't keep on turning I stumbled with my newfound musical family into the painful Sunday morning sunshine. We all went our separate ways and left the oldies cave behind but the memories from that night just keep ...STAYING ALIVE
(hahahah sorry I couldn't resist!!! hahahaha)

Brunch at Alyson's

I have to admit, I began stressing about the brunch menu days before.
This was to be the first of the monthly party rotations- every month we would take turns hosting little parties at our houses as an excuse to get together on a regular basis. I happened to be the first volunteer. Maybe it was because I had just finished reading Mrs. Dalloway and was in an 'ultimate hostess' state of mind, or maybe it was just because I was craving bloody marys. Who knows. Whatever the case, from the moment I sent out the invitations I began stressing about every detail until I had managed to drive everyone around me (read: Gabi and Chema) completely insane.

So many things to do, would I have enough time to do it all?

First thing to address was the state of my apartment- suddenly I couldn't stop thinking about how bare my walls looked, maybe I should run to the museum on my lunch hour and find some nice prints to hang? Or what about rugs? God, my wood floors look so barren! Maybe I should buy wood polish and skate around like the butlers in 'Annie' with rags tied to my feet to make them shinier? No, the real problem was the couch... I had time, I could buy yarn, print out knitting instructions from the internet and knit a nice colorful throw to put on it! The one I have was beginning to looks so ratty...

These were just some of the ridiculous thoughts clouding my brain days before my brunch was to take place. Impractical as always, I became obsessed with obscure details that were virtually impossible to take care of with so little time. What was supposed to be a simple brunch was rapidly turning into a costly apartment renovation...
The truth is whenever I plan parties here, I suddenly feel more American than ever. I guess I equate being American with being more detail-oriented , competitive and much more susceptible to stress. These aspects of my personality take over when I am in full party-planning mode and I start to act much more like I did when I lived in New York. I drink way more coffee, I walk faster to save time, I spend my lunch hour running errands instead of cooking and leisurely eating my meals at home. I even begin in-depth research to prepare my menu- I spend hours researching the food network website for drink and food recipes and then design and send my brunch invitation by evite. My competitive side awakens from its 3yr sangria-induced coma and turns what could have been a simple event into a high-stress contest to see how I can make my party so great that it will forever be remembered as the BEST party EVER. Come to think of it, I don't know if it really has to do with being American at all, maybe I'm just crazy. But I can honestly say that I have never noticed any of my Spanish friends stressing about get togethers as much as I do. I think they don't like to waste precious energy on getting frantic over a party when they could easily use it towards something more productive- like just going out to eat instead.

I admit it, my anal-retentive attention to detail was incredibly annoying. I even began frantically searching for new "cutting-edge" brunch recipes at least a week in advance. No, not your typical eggs benedict or egg mcmuffin type recipe, I preferred browsing through web pages of how to make Mexican huevos rancheros with homemade mole reduction sauce and detailed instructions on how to make whole grain Arab inspired hummus wraps with grape leaves and figs in the hopes of finding THE recipe of ALL brunch recipes. (In case you're wondering, I finally opted for Italian frittatas which actually turned out to be pretty easy to make.)
Days before, I made frequent trips to the market to begin collecting ingredients- that is, after having bought a brand new notebook to jot down the countless lists I was making.
My elaborate lists covered every possible aspect of the brunch: invitation list, shopping list, entree list, decorations list, diagram of how to organize food on table, etc.
As you can tell, I had quite a bit of time on my hands...Melissa even was gracious enough to cater to my insanity and make me a prep list the night before detailing what ingredients I should chop first and the order in which all of my courses should be cooked. So not only was I slowly going crazy but I was also obviously surrounded by enablers...

Well, the morning of the big day I woke up 4 hours early to begin chopping. Melissa was still asleep and I wanted to impress her with my chef skills. I even made sure to hold the knife just like she had shown me to so many times before, even though it was starting to make my hand cramp up. Two hours later, I lovingly gazed on my piles of chopped spinach and mushrooms- they looked so professional! Melissa's jaw was going to drop when she saw how much my cutting skills had improved!
Soon enough, Melissa indeed stumbled into the kitchen as I beamed, knife in hand, and gestured towards the fresh piles of vegetables.

"Oh my GOD" she said, as her jaw did indeed drop. My chest swelled with pride, until I saw that she was looking at my choppings in horrified disbelief.

"Why the f**K did you buy 3 kilos of parsley???"

Confused, I looked at the assorted bowls and explained to her that the enormous pile of green wasn't parsley at all, it was spinach! After a long pause, she began to laugh uncontrollably.
She leaned against the kitchen door and laughed hysterically at how I had chopped the spinach, mushrooms and tomatoes into what she later described as "the size of pinheads".
Apparently I had chopped my vegetables so tiny that they now resembled herbs! They were so small I could probably just sprinkle them on the fritattas in salt and pepper shakers...Stress again enveloped me, OH GOD, NOW WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO????

The brunch would be ruined by my tiny vegetables! What minutes before had been my pride and joy, suddenly looked like hamster food and I couldn't imagine what I was going to do now that I had single-handedly ruined the main entree of my brunch! When she finished laughing, Melissa managed to calm me down and we overcame the mincing disaster, luckily the frittatas turned out to be pretty small so the vegetable size didn' t make that big of a difference after all.

Aside from the chopping nightmare and some spilled champagne, the brunch was a success and we all had a great time. Gabi and I even managed to orchestrate the suprise attendance of Chemas cousins from Segovia without him finding out until the last minute! The bloody Mary's and Mimosas were flowing and as the day wore on, my apron (see photos below) inspired me to put on impromptu flamenco dance shows from time to time.
To sum it all up , aside from all of the stress, and the callous I now have on my pinky from following proper knife-grasping protocol.. I can't wait to do it again!!

the chef resting in her flamenco apron, check out everyone filling up their plates in the background!

posing with the segovia posse, the surprise visit from Chema's cousins went off without a hitch!