Lots of words of the day!

agua de grifo = tap water
la nevera = the fridge
una moneda = a coin
un monedero = a coin purse
¡quítalo! = leave it!
un pincho = a thorn/spike/pinch or a small plate, like a tapa
escurrir = to strain (i.e. food)
un puerro = a leek
salmón ahumado = smoked salmon
la yema = egg yolk
¡ta-chán! = ta-da!

Today, I went back to Madrid with a few friends.  We checked out El Rastro, a huuuuuge flea market held every Sunday.  We knew pickpockets would thrive in such a packed environment, so ahead of time, I made sure nothing was in my pockets (not even my chapstick), put it all in my purse, and zipped the zipper very shut.

At one point, my friend and I were walking side-by-side, and someone kept bumping into me from behind.  She sort of glanced at me, and I realized the same guy was "bumping into" her, too.  We squeezed quickly forward through the crowd—and he followed us and bumped into us some more when we had to stop again.  It took me until then to realize he wasn't trying to feel us up—he was checking our pockets.  And continuing to check our pockets.

At that point, we sped up again and ducked into one of the tiendas, facing out with our bags clutched to our torsos, and stood there until the guy disappeared.  The rest of our friends caught up with us a minute later, and I learned the phrase ¡quítalo! from a girl who was here last semester.  Next time, she said, make a beeline for the nearest police officer.  Good advice, year-long girl.

After wandering around the flea market for an hour or two (and not actually getting anything stolen from us, great success), we headed for the Reina Sofia, a big ol' art exhibit.  I took this photo of a HUGE mural by Picasso:

Apparently, though, we weren't supposed to take pictures in that particular room.  Neither of the (two patrolling) security guards saw me, though, so, yes I could!

We had tapas and wine in Madrid before heading back.  I left the house at 9:30 am and got back around 4:00, so it felt like a solidly spent day.  I celebrated with a short siesta.

When my host family got home, Ana showed me how to make Spanish tortilla.  It's verrrrrrry easy.  I helped her make a "small" one to share with me.  She peeled and sliced three russet (or similar) potatoes, then fried them in olive oil (and a little salt).  Bastante olive oil, she said, which literally means "enough" but is used here to mean more like "a healthy amount."  Anyway, there was about a cup and a half of olive oil in that frying pan, I kid you not.

She fried those for several minutes over medium-low (suave) heat until they were very mushy, then escurrió out the olive oil and discarded all but enough to coat the pan.  We mixed the potato mush with about four beaten eggs until they were fairly well blended.  She said, "Sometimes, you need to add more salt."  And then do you know what she did?  She took a small spoonful of the raw-egg-and-potato mixture and put it in her mouth.

And then the National Guard swooped in, and the entire household contracted salmonella, and babies died and the whole world exploded.

She deemed it not salty enough and added bastante more salt.  And has not died from consuming raw eggs.

Yet.

So then the eggy potatoey goodness went into the (still-hot) frying pan, cooked for oh maybe five minutes, got flipped, barely cooked on the other side, and was done.  ¡Ta-chán!

We chatted (in Spanish! whoa!) while making the tortilla.  Bonding time.  Which was good, because I felt much less awkward over dinner tonight.  We talked about the euro and how everything in Spain is like 50% more expensive after they converted.  We talked about food.  She shares my love of every kind of food everywhere—including mariscos (seafood) and sushi!  She even has a little package of dried seaweed for rolling her own, though she says she doesn't like to buy raw fish—she uses salmón ahumado and gambas (shrimp).  She'll eat raw sushi at a Japanese restaurant, though—her favorite is tuna.

I explained over dinner that muy rico sounds weird to me because to say a food is "rich" (meaning tasty) is a very British-English thing to say.  We don't say that much in American.  At least I don't.

Ana also told me about a little flea market that goes on right here in Alcalá every Monday morning!  It sounds like it opens about half an hour before I have class, but they're supposed to have a ton of food and some clothes and bags and things, so I might check it out one day if I feel like getting up early.