The Dog of Thunder continues to act like he’s lived here all his life. Our apartment is now covered in fur. Wendy got a contract. I continue to edit my next book. This week we plan on going to Magic stores and finding out what tournaments they have so I can play some physical Magic. The scale has finally relinquished its iron grip on my post-American weight and is slowly sinking back to normal levels.
A few days ago we walked up to this café next to the Temple de Debod (thank you whoever anonymously corrected me on the name, I am assuming Kinga?) with the Dog of Thunder in tow. (So many names for this dog: Beast, Hound, Stinker, Stinker Pinker, Dog of Thunder, Little Doggie Wetfoot, Perrito Salchicha, etc.)
Making the adjustment back to Spanish food is always a revelation. So clean, so simple, so fresh. We had raw salmon on a thin, three inch piece of toast with a drizzling teaspoon of sauce on top. Our second dish was another piece of toast with pieces of tuna, roasted red pepper and a tiny bit of olive oil.
At night we made BBQ mushroom quesadillas that contained all of three hundred calories for each entire meal.
On Saturday, we again walk up to the dog park, intent on more tuna, salmon and red peppers. This is a long-ass walk and we arrive just in time to find out they have stopped serving food. It is four o’clock in the afternoon and so far today I have eaten air and water. Neither was very filling.
We move on and find a nice place a half a block away with an open kitchen and a terrace so the little beast can lie under the table outside and be fed potato chips and scraps. We order a lean piece of pork on toast with caramelized onions on top. There might have been a little olive oil as well. Three small red peppers stuffed with cod.
Yesterday we went to a small place below us and had little pieces of seasoned beef with a spicy green sauce and placed on a puff pastry. Next was tempura asparagus, eggplant, carrots, red and green peppers with a teriyaki dipping sauce. Then some lightly dressed and grilled lean chicken squares on skewers and one skewer containing three pieces of monkfish flanked by four small shrimp, dressed only in olive oil and salt. No tartar sauce, no ketchup, no cocktail sauce, no heavy batter and nothing processed.
No wonder the scale is finally starting to move.
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