They Like Birds

While San Geraldo idly stirs his dried fruit and booze mixture for a couple of days (see yesterday's post), I've been very busy in the kitchen.

I've outdone myself by creating a brilliant and unusual breakfast (pictured below; click the image to view the recipe's multiple steps in better detail).

I KNOW!!! GASTRONOMIC GENIUS, RIGHT?

The cats watched me at work, very briefly, and decided to go outside to try and catch something fresh. The jerks!

BUT NO OFFENSE TAKEN REALLY. IT'S MOOSE AND DUDO'S DAILY ROUTINE.
(IF MONK PARAKEET AND SWALLOW ARE TOO MUCH TO HOPE FOR, PERHAPS AT LEAST SPARROW?)

It's alright if you act like a turd, because I like...

The Heat Is On

The weekend was supposed to be filled with sunshine. Maybe this is what "filled with sunshine" looks like in England or Wales. But the Costa del Sol is the Coast of the Sun, and this weekend did not live up to the name. We had perhaps a half hour of undisguised sunshine today. But it's once again a mix of clouds and sun. And that might be alright somewhere else, but we feel the chill. Besides, the high today has only been around 17C (63F). (I know, I know: I'm playing the world's smallest violin.)

Dudo doesn't like the cold (yes, it's all relative) and insists we turn on a space heater just for him. The minute he hears the click of the switch, he's there with his face in the works. His position progresses as he and the space heater warm up.

(Click the images to turn up the heat.)

After coffee this morning, I saw a little poodle who apparently doesn't much like the cold either. He was very chic. I wouldn't mind having that outfit; I think my tail might look quite good in it.

Leave it to San Geraldo to find the best way to overcome these cold, wintery days. He's preparing his annual batch of Jamaican Black Cake (click here for last year's post and the recipe). Even if all the alcohol doesn't warm us up, it will at least make us think we're warm.

WHAT HAS, SO FAR, GONE INTO THE MIX.

"Tell me can you feel it..."

A Matter Of Size

I have finally found a chocolate truffle that's the perfect size for the limits of my appetite. Amazingly, the chocolate is made by Lindt and, as you can see from the photo, one fits perfectly in the palm of my hand.

(Go ahead, size queens, click the images.)

While we're on the subject of size and quality, Meson Salvador re-opened after an 8-week renovation project that left nothing of the original restaurant except the amazing staff and food.

Elena's birthday was in November but we decided to extend the celebration, so we had another birthday dinner at Meson Salvador Thursday night. Our waiter, David, gave Elena the royal treatment. She ordered ribs and he made sure they were super-sized.

After dinner, Elena asked for a teensy bit of cinnamon ice cream for dessert. David got carried away but provided a size-appropriate spoon.

Did you know that cinnamon is considered (by some) to be an aphrodisiac? Elena happened to mention that. It was news to the rest of us. We all dipped our spoons in her ice cream.

The Squatter

Look what showed up on the beach after all the rain.

(Click to hippopotamize.)

But, worse, look at the squatter that showed up in town! I first met him in 2013 (click here).

The "squatter" is in a shop window in Fuengirola and is really a "caganer." He hails (or at least the tradition does) from Catalonia and can be found more commonly around Andorra, Valencia, Northern Catalonia, and Southern France. "El Caganer" means "the crapper" or "the shitter." He's posed more discreetly than he was in 2013.

"IS IT ME OR DOES THAT FRANKINCENSE REEK?!?"

Walking To Bethlehem For Cotton Candy

Some days, the international news is just too much to bear. I stopped reading this morning and, instead, San Geraldo and I did the NY Times crossword puzzle together over our coffee. I prefer doing the crossword alone, but this morning I really enjoyed the togetherness.

Afterward, I went for a long walk. It began with a purpose but "the purpose" was closed because today is a national holiday, Fiesta de La Inmaculada Concepción (Feast of the Immaculate Conception). So I instead checked out the Municipal Nativity Scene (Belén) on the Plaza de Los Reyes Católicos. (Belén is Bethlehem in Spanish.)

I had no idea they had cotton candy in Bethlehem 2,016 years ago! (And candy apples!)

Thanks to San Geraldo and my walk in the sunshine, my day is so much sweeter.

(Click the images to sweeten your day.)

PLUS ... FRESH COCONUT SLICES, CHORIZO ...
AND SOMETHING WHITE SQUIRTED OUT OF A JUMBO TUBE?

A JEWISH SYNAGOGUE IN FUENGIROLA!!!

WE THREE KINGS...

NO ROOM AT THE INN...

LOOK AT THAT CROCHETING.

I WAS SO BUSY ADMIRING HER TABLECLOTH, I ALMOST MISSED
THAT GUY ON THE BALCONY IN HIS BATHROBE. 

THE BAKERY.

FIRST I THOUGHT, "COW." THEN I THOUGHT "WELL-ENDOWED BULL."
THEN I THOUGHT "DEFINITELY COW." BUT, HELL, I'M FROM THE CITY!
BESIDES, WHO EVER HEARD OF A BULL BELL?!?

ON THE PLAZA DE LOS REYES CATÓLICOS.
(THE CATHOLIC QUEEN AND KING STATUE AT RIGHT.)

"You're the apple on the stick..."

It's A Treat To Beat Your Feet

It was a bright, sun-shiny day! We walked over to El Jazzy for coffee this morning and, afterward, I took a 1-1/2-hour walk on the paseo. The City and businesses are out in force cleaning up the mess. Mountains of mud are being scooped up by trucks. Streets and walkways are being powerwashed.

MUD BEING CORRALLED ALONG THE PASEO.

There's a lot of work to be done on the beaches. Boardwalks and facilities were torn apart by the rain and mud. Huge trenches have been cut through the sand and the entire beach and shoreline need to be re-graded. I don't know what they do about all that mud on the beach. Maybe it's heavier than sand and will just sink? Right now, it's not very pleasant, but the tourists are back out there sun-bathing. I don't blame them. I saw many sad-looking people dragging their suitcases to the train station yesterday. (Click the images for bigger mud pies.)

SUNDAY AND...

... TUESDAY.

AT ANOTHER SPOT, THE SUN-BATHERS HAD ALREADY RETURNED.

It's a treat to beat your feet on the Mediterranean Mud, too...

Peacock, My Ass

When I was first out of university and looking for a job (with my degree in Art with minors in Psychology and English), my mother's friend, Leah Meis (name changed to protect the unkind) insisted I meet her son-in-law to see if he had a job for me. He interviewed me in Leah's bedroom (and, no, I didn't put out) and offered me a job in the mailroom of his factory-of-some-sort in New Jersey. I didn't like him much (nor did I like the offer); I thanked him and turned him down.

The next day, Leah arrived at my parents' apartment and demanded I take the mailroom job. I told her I was looking for something a bit more challenging and interesting.

Leah said, "Get the feathers out of your ass, Mitchell! You're not a peacock!"


Once I was gainfully employed, I walked into Saks Fifth Avenue and bought myself a very expensive, hand-painted, silk necktie. One spectacular peacock feather on a scarlet background.

(After another 15 years, Leah Meis retired to New Jersey and my mother, having finally decided she'd endured enough nastiness, refused to visit her.)


Dudo's Peacock Feather
On the subject of peacocks, when our niece Lindy's parents were visiting last month, her mother, Debbie, brought a bag of toys for the cats — two of each item. Included were a pair of peacock feathers from their own farm peacocks. Dudo and Moose were (and are) ecstatic.

My Ass
In preparation for our move to Spain more than 5 years ago, I finally retired that very old peacock feather necktie. I've at times considered having a peacock fan tattooed across my entire back (emerging from the crack of my ass).

(Click the images for a closer look... at Dudo, not my ass.)

DUDO AND HIS PEACOCK FEATHER.

SOMETHING FLEW BY.

WAS THAT AN ENTIRE PEACOCK???

Detour, There's A Muddy Road Ahead

It's been raining, at times torrentially, since yesterday afternoon.

I texted Tynan this morning to see if he had it in him to brave the weather and meet us for coffee downstairs from us at Barboru instead of at El Jazzy Bar, which is closer to him.

He lives uphill from us, across from one of the flood channels in town. He texted back that mud and water were flowing downhill from the neighborhood, Los Pacos, above theirs. His street had been turned into a muddy river and he wasn't going anywhere.

(Click any image for more mud.)

TYNAN SENT ME THIS SHOT OF HIS "STREET."

San Geraldo and I had coffee downstairs and then went for a walk in the rain. Mud had washed down from the mountains, over roads and pavements, before pouring onto the beach and into the sea. What a mess.

SAN GERALDO SURVEYING THE DAMAGE ON OUR STREET.

WHERE THE TURF MEETS THE SURF?

THAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE SAND.

OUR NORMALLY SOFTLY UNDULATING SHORELINE.

CLOSED ROAD AND OUT-OF-SERVICE STATION?

MORE POOLS FILLED. MAYBE THE ROMAN BATHS CAN REOPEN!

THE ROMAN FISH-SALTING FACTORY.
I HOPE THOSE POTTED OLIVE TREES SURVIVE THE FLOOD.

ROAD AND PAVEMENT.
(OR, IN AMERICAN, STREET AND SIDEWALK.)

WHERE THE WATER WAS SUPPOSED TO STAY.
(SURGE WAS SO STRONG, THE BRICK FOUNDATION WAS TORN UP.)

WHAT TO DO WHEN IT'S RAINING: COFFEE, THE CROSSWORD PUZZLE, AND
CHEF ROBBIE'S FRESH-BAKED ORANGE SHORTBREAD AT BARBORU.

"Should have read that detour sign..."