The upstairs neighbor is doing some sort of noisy construction project in the room directly above mine, so several times today, I have stopped what I was doing to watch the ceiling to see if he is going to accidentally drill a hole through my ceiling.
Most of my day was spent scribbling in a notebook. I've been working out the plot for a new story, and it's actually been really exciting. Perhaps that doesn't sound like a great day for anyone else, but I got to spend the afternoon in another world. And there were about six cups of caramel tea involved.
However, European bacon has disappointed me yet again. Nico made dinner tonight, which consisted of Croque Monsieurs. He told me that they had a surprise for me in them. I carved into it and saw a little sliver of yellow, and indeed I did squeal. Cheddar cheese!! How I have missed it! But the cheese was not the surprise, he said. So I dug around the sandwich a little more, yet failed to find whatever it was that was supposed to surprise me. When I looked up quizzically, Nico said, "Bacon!" After inspecting the contents of the sandwich again, I realized that yes indeed, it was bacon. Nearly raw bacon.
I exclaimed, "Yay, bacon!" and then slowly cut a bite with my knife and fork. They studied my face to see my reaction. After chewing the piece of Croque Monsieur for a good thirty seconds, I fought my gag reflex, swallowed, and gave them the thumbs up.
"It is the same in America?" they asked.
I hesitatingly nodded before saying, "It's... similar. In the states, we usually cook it for a longer time." Edith and Nico shrugged and happily went back to eating their lukewarm raw bacon sandwiches, and I labored to eat the edge pieces of my own, because the bits nearest the crust were slightly more cooked than the middle. After twenty minutes, I said I was so full I couldn't eat another bite and gratefully moved on to the tea and biscuits portion of the meal.
It was an experience, certainly, but European bacon has sadly disappointed me yet again.
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