Recuerdos

And I sat there in phonetics class today...drifting off since the material I had already learned and seemed quite easy (how hard is it to separate into syllables and find the accentuation?)...thinking, of Madison. How I miss those Tuesday afternoons, fresh off of Spanish 223 I'd pick up the latest Onion and sit in the Trilling lounge reading over it, amusing myself with a select few others who were just arrive back from class or waking up. Mitch and Ian were usually there, Jake every once in a while. We'd sit and chat and laugh, then head off to lunch. As I said then, and it's still true now, lunch was typically my favorite part of the day, and definitely so on Tuesdays. We'd gorge and sit around the Don's table or else in the atrium for what turned out to be hours on some occasions. I'd get a flavored coffee (and I'd be damned if it was Chocolate Raspberry), trying always to get Mitch to drink it. Then we'd head back up to the lounge after lunch, coffee in hand, and just chill for the afternoon--no one wanted to do homework, or head off to their next class (though luckily for me I was done for the day). Then after some time Jeanne and Kayla and Kyle and Amanda and others would filter in, lunch trays in hand, and plop themselves down and it'd be a blast. 

The lunches are much quieter, here. Usually it's me and abuela. Sometimes her granddaughter. The selection, of course, is not a plentiful. There is no choice, and I end up eating soup most days. There are no reubens, there are no Chicken-Os, no Cuban pork sandwiches, no rare-but-delicious breaded chicken sandwiches, no cheeseburgers, no Brew City fries, no made to order quesadillas nor never-ending pasta buffets nor gigantic burritos covered in far too much guacamole and sour cream, and definitely no dirt cake. There is soup, pinto beans, garbanzo beans, lentils, noodles (not quite what you'd think). And bread. Plenty of baguette style bread, which varies in quality from something quite amazing to what appears to be styrofoam masking itself as something edible. 

There is no lounge to relax and digest the meal in. No Irish Cream nor French Vanilla nor Kahlúa coffees (and I can tell you why there is an accent mark on the "u" now), straight black. There is café con leche, which varies widely depending on the café you frequent. I've found one solid cup of café con leche so far in Alcalá. The rest seem to be imposters, heating milk in the microwave and tossing in instant coffee, as los abuelos do in the morning, a taste so offensive that it could turn me off of café con leche altogether. Café solo (black coffee) is served strong and small. It more resembles espresso (café cortado) than coffee we're used to in the States. If I order a café solo anywhere, I get this tiny shot of Spanish coffee, which I don't mind the taste (remember I love dark and bitter coffees and beers), but it's so small and perks me up so little that I feel like I'm wasting the 1.20€ it costs. At least with leche you get a full cup. And yet there is no Cedarburg Coffee Roastry where the refills are free and you get to choose from 4 differently delicious brews. Only one, and refill is 1.20€. There is a Starbucks in town, I'm far too afraid to go in there though as doing so would feel like I'm giving up, quitting, not embracing the new culture here. Wasting, if you will, the opportunity to have fine Spanish coffees while I'm here. And yet I've still to find that fine Spanish coffee, perhaps there is a café hidden from us foreigners where the delicious coffee flows freely and cheaply. Where there are large cups filled with black coffee of all regions and flavors. Where there is the strong smell of roasted beans and the absence of any TV screen. 

So now when I go to a café, I rarely get coffee. I haven't had a cup in days. Strange, I know, considering my 3+ during the school year and summer. I don't know if I can survive like this, without large quantities of coffee. Sure, I don't need it to stay up (in fact I have trouble sleeping often), but there's definitely something missing. I end up, instead, sharing a bottle of wine with friends, often having upwards of 3 cups in an afternoon. It's enjoyable, and I've grown quite the tongue for red wine (there isn't a bad red wine I've had here yet), but it doesn't give me that kick, that je ne sais quoi (o mejor, en español, yo no sé qué) that a bold cup of coffee does.

I've already planned my first full day back (or at least the meals): 

Breakfast: Fried egg (over hard, of course...something that they don't do in Spain) sandwich, on an egg bagel from Bagels Forever. Coffee.

Lunch: Homemade reubens (as Cedarburg is severely lacking in establishments with quality reubens). Afterwards, hours upon hours of coffee at the Roastry.

Dinner: Gigantic burrito from Chipotle, or an otherwise very spicy meat and cheese combination with plenty of sour cream and guacamole (perhaps my special recipe spicy meatloaf). Afterwards, an evening at Silver Creek, outside on the beer garden, legally drinking quality beer.

Is it bad that I'm already pondering this? It's not like I hate Spain, not by any means, I suppose this is my slow, drawn out "cultural shock" period that everyone usually goes through their first few days. I didn't have that at first, and it's definitely not panic-inducing. It's just gradual, the things I realize that I really miss from time to time. It's my quest this year to find at least one place in Madrid that serves a reuben.