Small shopping sadness

Monday, a silvery day, wind much abated but long sleeves and fleece was deemed de rigeur. As on other lunes the day began with a shop. Last week it was a big shop. Backpacks and shopping bags at dawn, three supermercados before the third coffee of the day but this week, alas, I forgot the backpack as I was burdened with a rubbish bag and bottles for the recycling thereof.

Only a small bag was needed. Only a small shop was undertaken. One supermercado and the pan shop for pan y a lump of cake, reduced from €3 to €2 because it was fresh yesterday. Our pan shop lady was lovely trying to explain that it wasn't as fresh as it once was but I seem to be my father's son and the prospect of a square foot of cake over two inches deep for €2 was too good a bargain to miss.

In the event it was lovely, nothing in it nothing on it apart from a slight hint of limon and a crunchy sugary top. It has since disappeared and it's disappearance was aided by one whose attempt to dissuade me from parting with €2 of hers fell on deaf ears. I was quite prepared to throw it away but it was lovely, really lovely, had it been a tad deeper, browner and round it would have been just like Nana made it.

We just passed by this evening but it had all gone.



This afternoon was calm, warm, bright and just right for a wander (almost) down to the harbour at that particular time when life in all it's rich tapestry is displayed and demonstrated by skilled artisans for all to see. The arrival of the fleet is a wonder of which I never tire. Indeed, I could be down there every day and it would never fail to thrill, excite and enrapture with interest. I seem to assume that everyone feels the same but I'm graciously reminded that such is not the case.

So, there we are a sad lunes shop which barely filled one bag. The first acknowledgement made of the temporal nature of our visit. Next lunes we may not need anything at all. Much sadness is felt but I did purchase a "lid" for the making of tortillas so that when we do finally arrive back in the freezer on days when it's over 20C and I feel so inclined I could try my hand at tortilla making. Perhaps.

On the way back this evening I got a dose of fresh chorizo. I've gently fried it in olive oil and thrown it into a frying pan with tomato frites, pancetta, caramelised onion, anything else that needed using and covered the lot with a stack of sliced potato. I'm now sampling a rather nice amber ordinaire, next to me a white is rapidly ebbing from a large wine glass whilst over on the cooker it all bubbles away and will eventually either be eaten or binned.

Frankly, as long as it means that I'm no longer expected to do cooking I shall be happy, and if it is binned there's always take away pizza from just up the road.