In Sevilla, there seems to be a tendency to own and enjoy what you have. Maybe it’s just Triana, the area I’m living in, but there’s an authenticity without pretension. They have the oldest and richest history of any place I’ve ever been to (although that’s not saying much), and yet there is much less pretension then the States--or at least Boston--has about its own history. There’s a reality here that I’m really starting to fall in love with.
This is most in the “less quality, higher quality” mindset around food that is relevant throughout most of Europe (or so I’ve heard). Dishes are smaller and shared among friends, coffees are gloriously strong but tiny, and they love the tiny spoons for ice cream as much as I do. Food is less processed, which means it won’t stay as fresh as long. Things aren’t as sweet here. Dried fruit is just as popular, if not moreso, than candy; in fact, candy stores are called frutas secas, or ‘dried fruits.’ You don’t find Splenda at the grocery store. Bread goes stale. All in all, it’s more real. If you want bread, you’ll get bread. They baked it that morning. Bigger isn’t always better. More can be overkill.
Now, I’m no foodie by any means, and I’ve loved all the meals I’ve eaten out. Also, I really don’t want to seem like an ‘ugly American,’ so I probably wouldn’t complain if I did have an issue with any food. But Sevillanos do it to each other all the time. If you’re going to take the time to enjoy their food, and give them your money, you’re going to enjoy it.
And enjoy it they do. While there’s not as much food on the plates, the food that’s there is eaten over even more time than we take for our “Super Value” meals in the States. You enjoy it. You enjoy the company of the people you’re with. And you’re honest if you don’t. The time spent eating should be enjoyed, and your time--and being--is worth more than it’s given when you stuff yourself with crappy food.
Furthermore, hardly anyone here is filled with fake sugary-sweetness. In the US, we’re used to having people sugarcoat the truth. We all earned a soccer trophy sometime in grade school, didn’t we? I mean, I got one and I didn’t touch the ball once the whole season (can you even call it a “participation trophy” at that point?). I mean, I haven’t been to any youth soccer games here, but I’m presuming everyone doesn’t go home with a shiny piece of plastic. Sevillanos can be brutally honest; if you aren’t prepared to hear it, then you might want to get out of la cocina. At first, it was off-putting. Whereas in the U.S., you get a lot of people who will beat around the bush rather than tell you what they're thinking, Spaniards are so far from telling you what you want to hear. I’m no child psychologist, and I’m not going to say one’s better than the other, but I think people develop a “thicker skin” here than at home.
This honesty is their way of expressing affection, as they are more concerned with your being genuinely happy, rather than being filled with an artificial happiness based on what you want to hear. It’s really quite refreshing, to be honest. And simple. A lot of things here--the food, the people, the way of life--can be hacked up to simple.
We put so much stock into being accepted by our society that we don’t always have that inner security that is necessary in sustaining a full, rich life. There’s something realistic, and yet self-respecting, about the Sevillano way of life; they have the self-esteem to own their opinions, but not in the same way that Americans at times overwhelm their neighbors. It seems that various opinions can coexist, simply because people respect their neighbors. Or maybe I’m off--I’ve only been here five days.
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