Kindness of Strangers

When I took my first Spanish class in the 10th grade at Kent-Meridian High School, most of our textbook referenced Spain. For years I didn’t have a reference of the Spanish-speaking world beyond the country. I remember watching a video about Semana Santa, mesmerized, thinking, “I want to go there someday.” One of the first things you learn in any language class is cultural customs surrounding food. I was completely enthralled by the idea that Spaniards indulged in churros y chocolate for breakfast. This was better than Cocoa-Puffs. This was the equivalent of dessert for breakfast.

I’ve waited 15 years to order churros y chocolate in Spain; in fact, it was the only thing on my to-do list today. We asked our host for a recommendation, and he pointed us towards Chocolateria San Agustin, which specializes in typical Spanish-style churros y chocolate. The last time I had churros y chocolate was in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, at Christmas, late at night, just after we had watched the posadas parade down the street. If you’ve never eaten a churro beyond Disneyland or your high school cafeteria, you’re in for a treat. A proper churro is as thin as your thumb, with a crispy outside and a chewy inside. They are light, buttery, and delicious. Over the years, I’ve also become a fan of chocolate, thanks to The Thomas Family. Every Christmas morning, Maikael’s mom makes Mexican hot chocolate. It’s richer and creamier than its American counterpart, with a hit of cinnamon.

As we settled into the lovely, shaded alley and confidently ordered churros y chocolate, this is what we were expecting. A few moments later our churros were delivered alongside a large cup of melted chocolate. Maikael and I exchanged what is now becoming the typical eyebrow raise of confusion. I tentatively dipped a churro into the dark, molten liquid, which was immediately met with resistance. The consistency was somewhere between motor oil and quicksand. “It’s like they melted down a bunch of Hershey chocolates and put it in a cup,” Maikael said. The chocolate was delicious – it just wasn’t what we were expecting. That is the thing about traveling: you enter into situation with an expectation of what it will be, based on a similar experience, and are always shocked when it turns out differently.

Yesterday, when we went to lunch, we could barely decipher the menu, despite the fact that we both speak Spanish. Phrases like habitas buenas escaped me. “Doesn’t that mean ‘good habits’?” I asked. In Spain, it’s a mixture of vegetables. I knew to avoid lenguado, which I assumed was a tongue, but appeared to be a strip of cod-looking fish. As a self-proclaimed foodie, I make it a point to learn culinary-related words. But I realized today that most of my references come from Latin American cuisine, the base of most of my experience in the Spanish-speaking world. I wonder if it will be easier in a place like Jordan, for which I have no cultural familiarity – what is there to be surprised about when you have no expectations?

We studied the other cafe-goers, who all seemed to be happily gulping down their chocolate. The Spanish grandpa behind us sipped eagerly from his cup, hands tottering, dots of chocolate lining his upper lip. We tried to spoon some down our throats, but couldn’t swallow the viscous chocolate. We left our cups half full, which prompted the waitress to ask, “You didn’t like it?” “No,” we said, “it was just different than we expected.”