Le American.

Tuesday 13th December 2011

On the 24th May 2003 at 3.23 in the early hours my son, Zephyrus, burst into this world after 9 months & 1 week of being cooped up in Mum’s tum. It was a relatively easy birth (He says ๐Ÿ˜‰ ) with everything being done & dusted within 3 hours.

After a couple of hours of shock at realizing that the past nine months did indeed produce a living & breathing human being that was going to need us for the rest of its life, we settled into caring for our beautiful boy & our obligatory 3 day parenting bootcamp at hospital.

As I’ve mentioned before, one of the great things about living in Spain is that it’s 10 years behind the rest of Europe in many ways, but one of the worst things about living in Spain is that very same advantage. When it come to giving birth here they would have you in stirrups if they could. I was forbidden access to 95% of the actual birth, only to be call at the very last moment, whereupon I was too late to witness that momentous last push. I suppose in the big picture it doesn’t matter. I have more than made up for that brief short falling, even if I say so myself.

As I’m sure you can imagine, those first 3 days in hospital were a huge learning curve for the 3 of us but whilst my wife was treated to 5 meals a day & semi-comfortable bed, I, on the other hand, was treated like a nuisance.

At scheduled times of the day I would take the lift 21 flights down to street level, walk across the street to a local bar & order a sandwich to take away.

Lomo con queso (Pork loin with cheese) was my sandwich of choice back then & I went at it hard having 3 or 4 of them a day.

So after sleeping in a chair for 3 days, without washing or changing my clothes & living on a diet of bread, I was glad to get my baby boy home. If only to show him that I could smell differently, if I put my mind to it.

Down by the beach front, here in France, there’s a row of take away eateries that are only open in the summer months. The rest of the year the place is shut down tight. In fact, the whole village is like a ghost town from October until Easter comes around again. Along with the usual pizza/burger menu choices, they make this, rather aptly named, carbtastic creation. We never find the occasion to have one. Choosing, instead, to walk the one extra block home to cook something slightly more balanced. It is literally what it is; a beef burger & chips in French bread, Dijon mayonnaise optional.

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This entry was posted in Beef, Bread, Dairy-Free, Lunch, Potatoes and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Le American.

  1. Stef says:

    I can’t believe you “weren’t allowed” to the birth of your own son! That’s horrible!

    I also can’t believe you claim that “Le American” is ‘aptly named’. Some of us Americans are healthy, ya know!

  2. Mistral Zagni says:

    This made me chuckle to remember you on those snadwiches with bloated stomach and smelly clothes…a great introduction for our son. I have fond memories of Le Americain from student days in France. This was up to standard.

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