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Spanish, the snack makes you superior

The musician and writer reflects on the schedules and how happy he is in Spain thanks, among other things, to ideas like dinner snack

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Spanish, the snack makes you superior

I have been nine months in Spain and it is not first time I feel like a four year old boy a little zilly. Because it is clear that I still have a lot to learn. For example, let's talk about food. Not Of something even simpler: basic act of eating and its schedules. For almost all my life, se have hardly changed: breakfast in morning, eat about half past twelve or one and dine at about seven thirty. Sucked.

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  • "Maybe you do not believe me, but I do not lie if I say that in Spain everything is better"

It's always been that way.

Until I came to Spain and again and again I wondered why fuck all restaurants I went to dinner were closed, full of Americans or totally empty. And last week I finally knew reason.

Once again, you've proven to be far more intelligent than us, British. I have finally discovered concept of snack. Yes, okay, in UK sometimes we take Five o'clock tea but, usually, you just do it if you're lined up or you don't work (and even I'm able to figure that I'll stick four sips to a tea and have a cookie Mary in rest room of Curro does not count as a snack.

Discovering world on Twitter

What bored me a little bit is that nobody would have told me anything until a couple of weeks ago, when I discovered it on Twitter. He was alone at home, it was seven o'clock in afternoon and — what a shame — he had already begun to dine. Well, yes. Because I was hungry. A hunger that you shit. I had not eaten anything since twelve thirty in morning, I had been playing piano all afternoon and my glucose level was so low that I would have been able to break someone's face. So I asked on Twitter, timidly, how hell are you able to hold till half past nine for dinner and — Tachán! — I got a wonderful barrage of pretty, lively, enlightening and spectacular answers about snack, snack-dinner (seriously ?), tapas, snacks... A new world of tips that save lives, relationships and make you keep your sanity. So angry I was about to take nine months to discover all this that apparently I invented a new insult: double pussy. Because, really I tell you, having spent nine months here starved well deserves a new expression of indignation (I'm waiting for RAE to give him approval). But it's also not about junk food. It is not sponsored by Nestlé nor is it intended for you to develop diabetes. We are talking about fresh fruit, healthy, beautiful carbohydrates, olives, natural energy...

In UK sometimes we take five o'clock tea but usually you just do it if you're lined or you don't work

All of a sudden, I started to understand everything. I woke up and had breakfast as usual. But, before, I would have spent three or four hours at piano until, almost fainted from hunger, I would have attacked fridge about half past twelve to zamparme what it caught. But not anymore.

Because now I know that re is (attention, first genius) morning snack. At about eleven or eleven thirty, it's time to have a snack: a potato pinchotortilla (without onion, of course) and an orange juice. Thanks to him I don't freak out and I have energy I need until two, when it's time for lunch. The real one, with his first plate, his second plate and his dessert.

More than one snack

I get to work again and (second genius) n comes afternoon snack (as if it were an endless source of joys, it turns out re are more than one). This happens about five thirty or six (but be careful, before may not be: day after my discovery I asked, excited, if you could snack already at four thirty in afternoon and let me know that eating before five thirty in afternoon was proper to gluttons). So, now I can go around six in afternoon to Great café on corner to have a snack and a latte (and not underestimate benefits of caffeine at that time).

What is even more incredible is that about seven thirty I can chop some tapas as a predinner that give me happiness

What is even more incredible is that about seven and a half I can chop some tapas as a predinner that give me happiness and concentration I need until dinner arrives, which means I can go to ater or a concert at eight and not pass me Ninety minutes that lasts feeling unhappy and miserable because I want to eat a steak. I can enjoy show, get excited a little thinking that I can go back to eat soon and relax knowing that when it comes out, it will be dinner time (I know that in Spain dinner at nine thirty is still soon; patience, I'm still going pasito a Pasito...).

The food of culture

But thing still gets better. Now comes (drum and third genius)... The Redinner. Anor fucking meal. Because about midnight or one o'clock in morning, after watching a movie, going out with friends, chatting and walking around Madrid, I'm hungry again, and apparently it's allowed — some people would say it's even encouraged — take a last, delicious bite before getting into bed.

All this makes me so happy... Knowing that, despite being adults, nothing happens to be a bit like children who queue at school to give m ir cup of milk at breakfast (perhaps this is only typical in UK), and eat six times a day instead of three It can only be beneficial for everyone. Anor thing I love is that I have set by rule not to look at phone during meals. So, more like, shorter with this permanently ultraconnected world we live in. And that has to be good for sure.

I have set by rule not to look at phone during meals. So, more like, shorter with this permanently ultraconnected world in which we live

Culture is often understood as a contribution to literature or music or art, as a creative thing that improves fabric of a society for generations. But just as important is what feeds that culture. Because and a shitty mistake would have composed nights in gardens of Spain without a snack in middle of afternoon. And no joke Meninas would have been painted without having a snack in morning. And what do you say about writing Quixote on an empty stomach? I'm sure it would have been half length (although maybe I would have read it more people).

The answer and comments I received after publication of my love letter to Spain have been absolutely wonderful. But re are those who have bored. Someone (curiously, a journalist from same newspaper) has come to say that y would have to deport me for writing it. But not to United Kingdom, but to Gibraltar (as if it were something very bad, I would like to explain why). I am very sorry if someone has felt offended by my declaration of love to Spain. Really. I don't mean to disturb anyone: I'm not like that. But let me ask you something: imagine that you have just lived in a place where you are happier than ever. A place where it is a wonderful time (almost always), people are hospitable; Art and atre, dazzling, and architecture, fantastic. Where word wifi has a pronunciation as cute as "Güi-fi". And where you also find that you can eat twice as much as before, which makes you more productive (and above without fattening). Do you really not want to jump to joy and say and I'm going to leave this shit? Because that's exactly what I'm doing now. I have come to stay (at least until I am exiled to Gibraltar).

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Translations of Laura Ibáñez

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