When I traveled to Spain on my honeymoon, I went absolutely ape-shit on the concept of tapas the second I stepped foot in the country. Eating forty-five meals a day and mid-day naps were within the realm of what was socially acceptable, and I was prepared to integrate into the local culture ASAP.
I must’ve been on my tenth meal and ready for a siesta by the time I walked into this one tapas bar in Seville, a city in the Andalusian region that’s as rich in architecture as it…Continue Reading
It’s time I reveal my relationship status with My Ceviche, whom I’ve been booty-calling on the regular for over a year now.
Every week without fail, there will be that one random night I come home after 9:00 from work, plop down on my couch pitying myself for not “making time” to cook myself a proper dinner and resort to a box of sugary cereal before bed. But before the shame has time to sink in, I remember that My Ceviche exists, and it brings a huge wave of relief. Not on…Continue Reading
It’s our second date. I’ve never been to a sushi restaurant but I’m not really thinking about what it’ll be like, or what I should order. A lifetime of eating at the same rotation of Cuban and Chinese restaurants makes me feel empowered to order rice and some variation of conservatively saucy chicken anywhere I go. Instead, I’m making sure my boobs look great in this shirt and cursing myself for missing a strip of hair on the back of my leg.
After we arr…Continue Reading
I used to be a very picky eater, a likely result of my mother cooking the same rotation of seven dishes for the entirety of my childhood. This perfectly orchestrated dinner schedule suited my risk-averse personality, and the fact that my parents are Cuban meant dinners always comprised of protein, rice, and magic mom sauce.
On weekends, we deviated from the traditional and went for some “outside” food — cheese pizza from Pizza Hut or some lo mein and orange chicken fr…Continue Reading