Muito Bom

There have been few meals or treats that have remained in my mind months and years later; a Pisco sour in Puno, creme Catalan in Toulouse, a seaside dinner that stretched hours in Barcelona, a rooftop decadence of family and food in Rome, but I now add another moment of deliciousness mingling with friendship to feed my soul in moments of hunger.

Muito Bom:
Very good! (Best used at the end of every meal.)
We were staying in a sweet second story room, newly decorated with the old, next to the train station in Vilafranca de Xira. Our host, a wonderful man in his forties, who had recently taken the gamble of buying and running his boarding house, stated emphatically, "it looks expensive but it is not, and the food is..ah!" And with that advice, he sent us off to find our dinner. 

The walls of the Restaurant Petisqueira were gray with black and white wallpaper while a scarred, wide-planked wooden floor ran underfoot, giant windows with white trim lined rooms filled with the soft glow of light fixtures comprised of kitchen utensils. Our waiter, Manuel, served with the flair and gentleness of a Parisian maître D. As we had given him the freedom to lead us through our meal, He started us with a tart white wine, rustic crusty bread, olives and an addictive garlic herb butter. He followed with two terra cotta bowls artfully displaying tender sliced pork cradled by colorful vegetables and a delicate flaky baccalao sprinkled with textured olive oil fried croutons. I ate slowly, letting each taste fade before reliving the first blissful bite over and over again. For dessert, Manuel brought us a warm citrus infused creme brûlée and a rich chocolate mousse topped with toasted pine nuts. Eyes rolled back and sighs could be heard as we lived lifetimes of decadence within the dessert course. As Manuel brought us our check and wished us well on our way, Alexander and I looked down in amazement..€29!!! The price of Applebee's! 

Alexander and I toddled off through town to our beds and dreams of a chocolate infused nirvana.

Vilafranca de Xira to Ajambuja: 20 km of less than pleasant landscapes...

Sometimes when a pilgrim is lost, she spends her time wandering past sewage smelling land, and other times when a pilgrim is following all arrows, she finds herself walking past the actual sewage plant itself.. But surely that is better than the guidebook route of walking along the edges of the busy N3 highway, right? Well, hmm..

A tennis match drew attention in a quiet bar, narrated by a questionably seductive sounding female voice. Alexander tucked into an obscenely large cream pastry, motioning for me to have a bite. I declined and watched him in envy while reminding myself of day two's post creamy pastry pain and perpetual search for a bathroom. 

*****

Alexander and I sat in the shadow of a large white church at the top of a tiny town, emptied of life by siesta. As we feasted on bananas, oranges, and plums, the bells began to erratically count off the hours.. One, two, three (6 seconds pass) four, five, six, seven ( freakishly long pause) eight, nine, ten, eleven.. (Time passes slowly as we anticipate the final bell.)
"Do you think it's done?"
"Wait for it..."
(More silence as Alexander messily licks a melted chocolate bar off of it's wrapper.)
DOOONNNGGG!
We headed on with ringing ears and dark chocolate coloring Alexander's beard and nose.

*****

I followed Alexander hesitantly into a questionable looking bar as the eyes of approximately ten men swiveled in our direction. We crossed through the bar to the restaurant, sitting at the back for dinner and watched as our waitress juggled hungry patrons and a crying toddler strapped in a stroller, a little one whose eyes took in everything but seemed to have trouble focusing on any one thing. Customers leaned in to kiss his pudgy cheeks as the waitress rushed about. Though the courses of cabbage squash soup and seafood stew, followed by chocolate cake and a liberal amount of white wine, Alexander and I shared stories of our families, our partners, our work, our travels and our hopes to make a difference in a world of shifting values. As the wine slowed my movements, I looked around to see a child fighting a losing battle with sleep, an exhausted waitress who still had a ready smile, and patrons comfortable with getting up to refill their own glasses of wine and to lend a hand. I saw a community.