El Campo & The Blog Premier of the new hair!

On Sunday we went to a friend of Marcos´s family (Valentina & Isidro - I LOVE the name Valentina!) house in the country to eat Migas. Yes the main purpose of the day/trip was to cook and eat Migas. (Eating is just about as important to spanish culture as drinking outside on a hot day is to aussie´s (or probably just drinking in general)). Their country house is in the village of El Pedroso, where Ms Mum grew up. 60kms from Sevilla. Marcos´s family also have a little house in the same village, though its best not to enter it in case the roof falls on your head which is very likely considering its state. They also have a property, that Ms Dad spends alot of time on, though it doesn´t have a house on it yet, it has what we call "the ruins" which will one day be turned into a house when/if Marcos gets off his fat ass and designs one, we are unsure which will come first, his drivers licence or the house, probably neither. Anyway, Valentina & Isidros house is on a beautiful big property and they grow lots of fruit & veg, lots of which gets passed on to us.

Migas are a traditional country meal, cooked on an open fire using stale bread, lots and lots of garlic, sometimes potatos and chorizo. The sheep hearders eat this for breakfast because with this in their bellies they could be out without having to eat again all day. (It sits like a brick in your guts!)

Of course it can be made just by one person but its much more fun in a group with everyone gathering around the fire to take turns in stirring it. The bread goes in, pre soaked, so its wet, and you have to mix it until the water evapourates and the bread gets dry and crunchy like breadcrumbs. This can take over an hour so taking turns stirring is easier on the old arms.

I was given a turn stirring for photographic purposes, (look new hair!) but was quickly kicked out by the bossy spanish types saying that I stir too slow. Bah! Don´t worry though, what I make up for slowness in the stirring stakes, I give back in the eating stakes. After its done we set up a table outside and all stand round digging in with spoons, no double dipping rules here. The plastic bottle in the foreground of the pic that looks like petrol is actually mosto, a young red wine also drank in the countryside particalarly for its cheap and nasty attributes. Yummy! Tastes like Benadril! Marcos warned me to eat slow cause I had no idea what I was waiting for if I ate too much. Of course I didn´t listen to him and then at home at 7pm I had to go lie down cause I felt like I was carrying triplets and couldn´t stop thinking (and feeling) about all that bread in a big triplet lump in my belly.

And I leave you with a pic of me (with new hair!) cracking open almonds (taken from Ms Dads property) with a hammer, which was suprisingly fun, and at which I was suprisngly good at.