Days pass slowly here in the sunshine. We take a walk each morning and sometimes have lunch at one of the many little restaurants nearby. We like a little French bistro on the corner of our street.
There is a tiny bar and a few tables and chairs under a thatched roof. The menu is in French, written on a blackboard. The waitress is a sweet young Dominican woman who only speaks Spanish. This makes ordering interesting. I can read most of the menu but if we order in French she doesn’t understand. She tries to clarify in Spanish and we don’t understand.
Fortunately the French woman who is the apparent owner comes to our rescue. She interprets my bad French into Spanish, says a few words in English, we all smile and nod and when our food arrives it is invariably good.
Our apartment is spacious and comfortable but the kitchen leaves much to be desired. The gas stove is tiny and requires a match to light. The two pots have small handles on both sides but there are no pot holders so trying to manipulate them without getting burned is a challenge. We’ve been unable to find a saucepan with a long handle in any of the shops, or potholders. A folded towel has to make do.
There are a few dishes, some tableware with plastic handles that are wobbly and the dullest knives in existence. It all makes eating out very attractive. I’ve done a few one pot meals however. The most successful was a sort of pork osso bucco. A pork shank simmered for several hours in white wine, onion, red pepper, salt and pepper. At the end I added a potato and a carrot. Not bad.