Drinking out the family milk carton, and then sampling jam from the farmer's market and realizing too late that you took your spoon from the used spoons jar.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Posted by Malorie at 8:48 AM
Friday, June 27, 2008
One of the greatest things about traveling is the food. Baguettes in France, tapas in Spain, more pastries in France. After a while though, you find yourself craving some American classics. For about a week in Spain and France we got free breakfast in our hostels. Considering our extreme budget, it was a cause for celebration. Barcelona had the largest by far. Three different types of cereal (with non-refrigerated milk), toast, packaged muffins, fruit, and quik packets to go with your room temperature milk. None of this food was amazing quality, but it didn't stop me from thinking about it all day. The second night we were there Jon and I actually planned out what we would eat the next morning. I was going to start with a bowl of cocoa crispies, then frosted flakes, followed by a second bowl of each, topped off with 2 pieces of toast and a glass of cheap orange juice and quik. I lost sleep from the anticipation. Jam packets would be stuffed into our pockets to make PBJ's. The next morning we would get up at 8, push past the still-drunk English kids singing drinking songs, and stuff our faces with white bread and various sugared cereals served from a plastic bin with a ladle. Massive breakfasts were a theme of the trip, starting at hotel McKinnon where Jan served us New York bagels, fruit and yogurt.
Cold milk was the holy grail of all breakfast food. In London, the first night we were there we went to a small grocery store and bought a pint and a box of Kellogg's Bran Flakes. My mouth was watering as soon as I locked eyes with that blue box. Those who know me well know of my love of all things fiber filled. Sugary cereals are "dessert cereals" in our home--breakfast is devoted to grape nuts, wheat chex and kashi mini wheats. As we went back to our hotel room and filled ceramic yogurt cups with cold milk and fiber laden flakes, my hands were visibly shaking. I could not believe how good those things tasted. As cup after cup passed my lips I eventually sat in some state of bran nirvana. When we finally came home one of the first things I did was open the fridge and drank straight from the gallon. (sorry mom.)
Posted by Malorie at 2:35 PM
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
I'm happy to say after one airline curry meal, Indian cheetos, several diet cokes, like 8 subway rides, one bus ride, 2 planes, one face sized cinnamon ice cream waffle cone, two big hugs goodbye from Kenz and 3 and 1/2 movies later, we are back in Boise. I even got up the energy to cut Jon's hair, but didn't finish. He'll be rocking the s'mullet (side mullet for you non trendsters) to my dentist appointment tomorrow. That's a long story too.
I have many great posts brewing but I'm starting to get dizzy. My body thinks it's yesterday night or something. Here's a pic to tease you.
Posted by Malorie at 7:47 PM
Monday, June 16, 2008
(Packing before our trip)
Mal: What swimsuit are you taking to Europe?
(two choices: Some pretty short trunks-I would say European style, even- and a speedo.)
Jon: The speedo, of course.
Mal: Do you want to bring both, just in case?
Jon: No way! It´s Europe, remember? Everyone wears speedos over there.
(I thought that I should pack both, because I know he´ll want it anyway... but decide against it.)
Standing on the beach in Nice...
Jon: No one is wearing speedos.
Mal: Except for 50 year old men. And 5 year olds. And they are just wearing underwear.
Jon: I wish I had brought my other swimsuit.
Mal: (says nothing... just smiles.)
Jon: I just pulled a Kirt, didn´t I?
Mal: Yes, honey, you did.
*Pulling a ¨Kirt¨ refers to a person who, when confronted with a different region or culture, assumes that stereotypical dress or actions will help the person blend in with the locals. The end result is usually embarrassment and the exact situation they were trying to avoid in the first place. (e.g. The aforementioned ¨kirt¨(aka Dad) once assumed that Hawaiians, with their casual nature, would only wear Hawaiian shirts and flip flops to church. We arrive at church, and all the men are dressed in traditional church attire. Embarrassment follows, and a family legend (and long running joke) is born.
Actually, we were both pretty out of place on the beach. I was wearing a swimsuit top, (a), and it was a tankini (b). Me and one 80 year old lady were the most covered up swimmers there. And I´m not kidding.
Posted by Malorie at 2:21 PM