Monday, March 4, 2013

March 3, 2013

It was a different kind of a Sunday as I took up the morning to finish the PowerPoint presentation on critical thinking and then got ready to go to Laira’s house for lunch. The weather was overcast again and for the first time, very windy as well.

 I was able to wear just my tights under my black pants and clogs instead of boots. I meant to buy wine to bring to the lunch, but only found the usual non-alcoholic ones at Narodni, and Laira indicated she didn’t want anything at all.

As I walked on Manas to catch the marshrutka, I ran into Asia and Ebi who were heading to the Dordoi Bazaar slightly hung over from having gone clubbing the night before. They both apologize for not having been in touch, but it was the kind of meaningless platitudes one encounters around here quite often.

Laira’s house stood on a narrow side street full of potholes and as unattractive as all the other ones I’ve seen so far. The high orange gate hid the first floor of the two story structure with an inner courtyard where a barbecue had been built into a wall. She showed me several fruit trees, completely bear still, and the area where she’ll eventually plant some fruit with her daughters.

She had already cooked the white rice and the beans and was waiting for me to cook the chicken as she complained she didn’t always get the best results. The chicken was boneless and thus took very little time to cook after I added a few more spices, capers and olives. She had been given three avocadoes by a Salvadorean friend whose husband brings them from her country.

Her two daughters were quite polite, but they were hungry and started eating the minute the food was placed on the table. Her husband had a meeting at two and left shortly after he finished eating. He’s from Switzerland, but speaks Spanish fluently since he lived in the Dominican Republic for five years before meeting Laira.

We had a serving of our “habichuelas con dulce”, a very thick paste in this case, and I found it resembled the real thing quite well, especially when I overlooked the lack of sweet potatoes, cassava bread or the real small cookies that are usually placed on top it. Laira made me Santo Domingo coffee and I was a real happy camper.

It had started raining in the meantime and Laira offered to drive me home after showing me the upstairs of the house where the bedrooms, formal living room and playroom were located. I took some leftovers home.

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