Patience

I missed Milagros so much I wanted a taste of home.  I have tried, for twelve years, to make croquetas, just the way she did.  I never got it right.  I would call her, frustrated, because it was too goopy, or too thick or didn't taste the same.  She would laugh at me and tell me of course I got it wrong.  In jest, she would say I would never get it right, because she was sure I was not using the right ham and most importantly because you have to have patience.  Something I just don't have.  She would tell me to come visit her in Barcelona and that she would make them for me, the right way.  So I would.  I would eat so many I would get sick.  Then I would eat some more. 

 

This summer, the kids and I were going to go to Spain for a month and stay with her.  I was going to enroll them in summer camp and just spend time with my friend, keeping her company, helping her in her house, talking about life.  She was going to walk me through all of the recipes of all the amazing dishes she prepares and I was going to write them down.  We were both really looking forward to the extended visit.

 

When I went to visit her a few weeks ago, her daughter and I figured out how to get Spanish ham back into the US legally. 

 

This night, the night of the croquetas with my jamón serrano, I realized she was right.  Lost in my thoughts and fond memories of one the greatest gifts God has ever blessed me with, I stood over that pan and slowly stirred the masa, for over an hour.  The next day, when they were ready, they came out perfectly.  I made her puree de verduras,  tortilla española and pan con tomate.  I pulled out one of my shirts, still packed in my hiking pack from the week before and buried my face in the smell of her house.  For awhile, I got to pretend I was home.