So the other day it was my turn to cook, and I turned to the ol' standby, spaghetti with meat sauce. All that really means is that I bought ground beef at the butcher's, which I brown in a pan with diced (or is it minced, who knows?) garlic and sliced onions (maybe I dice the onions). Once the garlic and onions are ready and the meat is browned, I usually dump in a couple packets of the Napolitana salsa I buy at Disco or Carrefour, and the meat is ready to add the the spaghetti. Okay, so just as I was cutting up the garlic I realized I had no more onions in the basket. Lucky we live in the city; all I needed to do was zip down in the ascensor, run around the corner to my favorite mamá y papá grocery story, and pick up a couple onions. Although it was cold and I was only in jeans and a t-shirt, I decided not to bundle up – the trip would only take me five minutes max, I figured – and instead chose to slip my feet into my Scott slippers and throw on my almost-twenty-years-old barn jacket and head out.
As soon as I got to the store I know I had messed up. There was a line – mamá and papá were only letting one customer in at a time – and I was third or fourth in the queue. Even worse, just ahead of me were two young girls I recognized from Lange Ley, one of whom I think is in Quinn's grade, though not his class. Both of them looked back and clearly recognized me…before then looking down at my bare toes. Immediately the two of them turned to each other and began chattering away and giggling. My immediate thought: Poor Quinn -once again his dorky dad embarrasses the new guy at school.
Nevertheless I endured the cold and the humiliation, smiling bravely every time they looked back, and within five minutes it was my turn to enter. For some reason the girls got to stay in the store. I actually don't think they even bought anything, so I'm not sure what they were doing there, but I was too busy trying to figure out how to ask for an onion since I couldn't see them in any of the vegetable bins. I started out like a confident pro: "Yo quiero..." and trailed off into, "um, um…" Then I started making hand gestures that really meant nothing more than something round. I contemplated mimicking a cutting motion coupled with wiping tears from my face, but my better senses ruled. Finally I blurted out, "Yo quiero un onion. Como se dice onion?" knowing full well that the store owners really didn't speak any English.
With great luck the girls came to my rescue. Gigglaughing again one of them said, "cebolla," and then the storeowner repeated, "Ah, cebolla!"
I tried the whole sentence: "Si, gracias, yo quiero un cebolla," and was slightly corrected ("unA cebolla"). Everybody laughed and the old man pulled a cebolla out of the bin and took it to the register. Handing over my pesos, I tried the word out a few more times to practice, looked down at my slippers and then into everyone's face with a sheepish smile, and retreated back out the store, around the corner and back to my warm frying pan and pot of water.
By the way, green beans are chauchas.
As soon as I got to the store I know I had messed up. There was a line – mamá and papá were only letting one customer in at a time – and I was third or fourth in the queue. Even worse, just ahead of me were two young girls I recognized from Lange Ley, one of whom I think is in Quinn's grade, though not his class. Both of them looked back and clearly recognized me…before then looking down at my bare toes. Immediately the two of them turned to each other and began chattering away and giggling. My immediate thought: Poor Quinn -once again his dorky dad embarrasses the new guy at school.
Nevertheless I endured the cold and the humiliation, smiling bravely every time they looked back, and within five minutes it was my turn to enter. For some reason the girls got to stay in the store. I actually don't think they even bought anything, so I'm not sure what they were doing there, but I was too busy trying to figure out how to ask for an onion since I couldn't see them in any of the vegetable bins. I started out like a confident pro: "Yo quiero..." and trailed off into, "um, um…" Then I started making hand gestures that really meant nothing more than something round. I contemplated mimicking a cutting motion coupled with wiping tears from my face, but my better senses ruled. Finally I blurted out, "Yo quiero un onion. Como se dice onion?" knowing full well that the store owners really didn't speak any English.
With great luck the girls came to my rescue. Gigglaughing again one of them said, "cebolla," and then the storeowner repeated, "Ah, cebolla!"
I tried the whole sentence: "Si, gracias, yo quiero un cebolla," and was slightly corrected ("unA cebolla"). Everybody laughed and the old man pulled a cebolla out of the bin and took it to the register. Handing over my pesos, I tried the word out a few more times to practice, looked down at my slippers and then into everyone's face with a sheepish smile, and retreated back out the store, around the corner and back to my warm frying pan and pot of water.
By the way, green beans are chauchas.
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