The husband and I dated for a short time before I moved to Mexico to live at the orphanage. On date nights prior to leaving, I insisted on over-ordering & cleaning my plate in an effort to consume as much food as humanly possible.
Did I think the orphanage would not feed me sufficiently? No. But would they provide me with The King & I Thai and an delectable array of spicy chili pepper sauces? Unlikely.
i.e. We fell in love over mass quantities of food.
Indian. Chinese. Noodles & Co.
I can only imagine that he turned a blind eye since we were still in the honeymoon phase. In hindsight, regularly seeing me in the food-coma-fetal-position and hearing the words “Don’t touch me” couldn’t have been all that appealing.
Fast forward to our first Taco Tuesday this past week. My “slobbing down” of the rice and beans was referenced by my husband while we were en route home, along with the phrase “we may not have made it this far”.
Thank goodness we were steering clear of Chipotle prior to my departure.
In my defense, I’m a big believer in equal portion sizes for all, and we were sharing. It is clearly not relevant that the man is one hundred pounds heavier.
I’ll conclude with random collection of iphone pictures. I’m sure you’ll be shocked to learn that a good number of them are food-related.
Açaí with a sense of humor.
Eggplant marinara, slow cooked and made from scratch. Like most things here.
Relishing the fresh produce.
The husband’s first attempt at homemade taco shells. Not a proud moment.
Suco de melancia com hortelã/Mint watermelon juice.
Fresh market herbs. Total cost R$4 (about US$2).
The magazine section at Liveria Cultura bookstore. People stand here for hours reading.
We have a written agreement that any time I accompany my husband for football at O’Malleys, I am consequently gifted chili cheese fries.
I have so far opted against the egg flied lice.
Two things I adore:
1. Holiday decorations
2. Miss Amy Utecht in Berlin. BEST CARE PACKAGE EVER. Love you.
Saturday morning breakfast: Watermelon juice. Coffee. Mango w/ lime & chili pepper.
In disbelief the TOMs are still alive & kicking. The torrential downpour in Rio really did a number on them.
Watching a cattle auction. On television. With a Lady Gaga soundtrack.
Sucos Copa Lima, site of my Thanksgiving Lunch.
A chaveliera (key maker). Making friends with these guys since the husband lost his keys… for over a week… in his backpack.
A little visit in Rio to the Gringo Café. I’m not too proud to admit I went here by choice. Or to say that I ate both large bowls of straight carbs by myself. (Insert food-coma-fetal-position here.)
We have been puzzled by a fast food chain in Brazil since we arrived. It’s called Habib’s, and it’s logo is under the Coke emblem.
After a good amount of beer this past weekend, we wandered in and all of the boys ordered a drunken “Bib Dog”.
Saturday morning, organic market at Parque Agua Brancas, a short walk from our apartment.
Have we seen the peacocks before? Yes. Have I taken pictures already? Yup. Will I continue to do so each time we visit? I’m leaning towards probably.
After snapping a few photos, I turned around to my husband shaking his head. Apparently, I looked ridiculous with my phone out next to three little girls (half my size) all doing the same thing.
Whatever. Peacocks are delightful.
Love. Collection of Brazilian peppers for R$2 (about US$1).
Despise. Quail eggs. Who eats these? I would much prefer they hatch and fly away. Save the baby quails!
Still reading, eh? That can only mean one of two things.
1. You are my parent.
2. You have mistakenly stumbled upon my blog and need to be redirected. It’s okay, you’ll make it out alive. But you’ll never get the past four minutes back. Your best bet is to click on the red ‘X’ in the corner of your screen and start from scratch on your homepage.
I’m sure at some point, I’ll run out of things to write about. Either that, or my posts will continue to get longer and more bizarre.
Either way, love and hugs from SP.
