Ask and you shall receive

(if not reasonable portions) an answer, at least.

A week or so ago, I celebrated my victory against the absurd portion size Leonór dished out at meal times--it was a premature celebration. She continued to serve me too much and I continued to sit down, stare at the mountain of food on the plate or the Lake Superior-esque* steaming bowl of soup before me, and stress out. While it is the worst--and only--issue I've had with her, believe me when I say it was actually a problem. Who wants to leave the table continually feeling like an over-stuffed croqueta (which is a blend of ham and something fatty and tasty, breaded and deep-fried)? Not me. So, in the last couple of days, I've routinely brought my plate back to Leo in the kitchen and asked her to remove some, often up to half. She looks at me, scolds me, then takes off maybe a third. I shake my head, she is appalled, but finally removes the rest of the requested amount. Success! She is finally taking me seriously. I had to stop expecting her to read my mind; to give up hoping she would decide to serve me less.

I was telling my mom today, I've identified why this was an issue: I believe in America if I had a guest that didn't eat a lot and consistently left food on his plate, I would serve him less (not that this would necessarily be an issue, since we do often just serve ourselves at the table). Here, the rules of hospitality demand she serve me what she wants me to eat and I have to bargain for less. It's just one of the myriad things to learn about Spanish culture. This is not only an issue for me: sources say that an anonymous CC-CS student actually had to launch an entire, small roasted chicken out the window to escape the necessity of its consumption--it was the third chicken this student was expected to eat, poor dear. (I confess on two occasions I have made use of a napkin to smuggle away some unwanted quantity of food to dispose of secretly.)

Because I "eat so little," she kindly but persistently scolds me. I just laugh and remain firm, demanding what I want (otherwise, she'd never listen). For her small stature, she is surprisingly tough, and when she squeezes my arm or hits me on the shoulder in an attempt to encourage me to eat, I'm surprised by her strength. And one of our favorite daily topics of conversation is how little I eat--I think I'll be discussing the size of my stomach until May.

In other news, after another conversation about how much I eat, I asked her a question that had been bothering me for some time. After my roommate and I eat, we leave our plates on the table along with everything else and just go back to our room. We don't help set the table, we don't wash dishes, we don't do anything. I didn't understand if this was impolite or expected or what. I actually enjoy washing dishes and tidying up so I would welcome the opportunity to help. I got up the nerve to ask Leo if this was okay, or should we help her out? She quickly assured me that that was the way she wanted it, as she didn't work, caring for us was just part of her daily routine. I said I would love to help out in any way I could, if she'd only let me know, and she happily said she would.

Now, though I don't necessarily like it, I make myself relax and just let her enjoy serving me, whether it's at mealtimes or the random tea times she creates just so she can serve me a couple sweet crackers with the amazingly delicious manzanilla té. Oh, Leo. You think you're so tricky.

*For those of you who have not yet been blessed by the beauty of Lake Superior, I'm happy to report it's the second-largest freshwater lake in the world and I live just a few minutes away in the Upper Peninsula of MI. Unlike my warm bowl of soup, it's ridiculously cold, which is probably the reason it's so clean (when I'm on a rowboat at 200 ft. depth I can still see the bottom and the massive fish that drift slowly by) and the adventurous tourists and Yoopers that actually enter its waters  have yet to mar its natural splendor.