Dinner in Sant Cugat

It’s been a whirlwind just to arrive in Barcelona. Now, Sonia’s family was starting to arrive home from work and school. There was a lot of commotion as people arrived. Introductions were made to me and then they’d go about their business catching up from a long day. I did my best to stay out of the way.

As Sonia and her Mother made their way to the kitchen, I decided I should see if I could be of any assistance. Sonia had snuck out the back of the kitchen before I got there. I smiled at her Mother and tried to ask if I could help with anything. She looked at me and in extremely broken English said she couldn’t understand English.

I took a seat at the kitchen table and waited for Sonia to come back. In the meantime, her Mother continued with the cooking. When Sonia came back she jumped right in. She cut bread and started the smear a whole tomato over it. This was new. I’d never seen anyone squish a tomato on bread and then throw away the skin. I asked Sonia if there was anything I could do. She explained to me that it was very awkward that I wanted to help, since I was the guest. But she allowed me to carry the dish she just finished making to the table.

In no time at all, dinner was ready.  Her Father was the last to arrive. After I left the kitchen he’d gone in to make a very special dish. In honor of me, he’d gone to the foothills of a mountain on his lunch break to pick mushrooms for this dish. He said the mushrooms were very special in this area and it was a truly local dish. It was a basic mushroom salad with olive oil and herbs, very fresh and very tasty. Everything was!

For dessert, her Mother made a fruit salad with pomegranate, grapes, and oranges. She’d kept a lot of the juices in it and added some sugar, I think. I don’t know exactly what she did, but it was the best fruit salad I’ve ever had.

The food was phenomenal. It was probably the most authentic meal I’d had in my time in Europe. But more than that, their hospitality was above and beyond. Even if you don’t share a language with someone, hospitality is universal.

Before I left the family a week later, I gave them some goodies I’d brought for them from London. Most were small knickknacks to show my appreciation. The most appreciated gift by far was a tin of shortbread cookies. Sonia’s Mother squealed with delight and her little sister snatched the tin to steal a cookie immediately. Although the cookies were hardly a homemade meal, I was glad they liked my gift.