Bread in Spain is not just bread. Iñaki often makes the distinction between the soft baguette style that is most common here and the sliced flat bread from the U.S. that is most common at home, as "our bread" and "your bread". The bread in Spain is more delicious, no doubt. It is eaten with every meal and dipped in anything from coffee, to thick, warm chocolate pudding, to oil and vinegar. It can be a meal, a dessert, a snack, you name it. It's also used in place of a knife here while eating. You scoop the tiny bits left on your plate onto your fork with a chunk of bread rather than a utensil and then take a bite of chunk where drags or juices from the meal have been left. However, you can't use a whole piece of bread to do this. You rip a piece from your slice and set the rest alongside your plate to be used later once you've exhausted the first part. To top it all off, I've been instructed to eat my eggs a certain way with the bread. You can't simply cut the egg with a fork and eat it, but you must poke it with the edge of your bread and let the yoke run a bit and then continue to break it up with the bread and scoop it on top and take a bite. It is a wonderful bite.
I've only been to get the bread twice and today was my second time. My first, if we're talking new pueblo bread retrieving. The first official day I got bread was a Sunday. Iñaki and I were making breakfast, at noon, and we only had old bread. So, I went to the nearest open bakery, because most are closed Sunday, and fetched a loaf of bread and a Sunday paper. Isn't that enchanting? I just loved it. The little bakery was on a corner in downtown Pamplona and had low lighting with baskets and baskets of various breads lining the walls from floor to ceiling. It was cool inside and a nice break from the heat outside. I lined up behind a few folks and waited my turn, said, "I'd like one of those," pointing at one of the baskets and grabbed a paper as well. They wrapped up my loaf of bread lovingly in a little piece of wax paper and I paid and walked out, trying my best to master the phrase "hasta luego" which still comes out garbled every time.
I remember feeling so Spanish because of this tiny ritual. It's what everyone does each morning, unless they have theirs delivered, which many of the smaller pueblos do. In Tajonar, our neighbors and Emily's family have a long thin bread bag that they hang on their door and each morning when Em gets up, she opens the front door and there's a fresh loaf waiting for her to be used that day, like milk in 1950s America. Charming.
Today´s bread getting felt a bit different, and for some reason, wonderful. It's pouring down rain today and I wanted a little coffee to cozy things up a touch. I've only tried the coffee at two of the little bakeries here in Zizur and the one right across the plaza from us is better because it uses better milk. So, I grabbed a book, strapped on a hat and hustled across the plaza with some change from the money cup for bread and a spot of joe. It's the first time I've been in the bakery and it's quite cute. It has the bread lining the walls, like most, and a case of pastries in front with lots of little treats on the counter that I'm sure kids beg their moms for each time they enter. There's a little counter to take a quick coffee at or a few tables along the wall if you want a snack or something.
A little lady with died red hair, no color that could be natural, and a man who looked tan and lived in stood behind the counter chatting with customers. The man was a bit more serious and straightened up as soon as I walked in. He said, "hola, dime," and I asked for my cup of coffee and sat at the granite counter on a rickety stool waiting for it. I opened up my book and started reading and he just set the coffee in front of me quietly, so not to disturb. I read a few pages of "In these girls, hope is a muscle," and sipped, secretly scanning the surroundings.
A little boy was sitting at a table to my right all by himself. He couldn't have been more than 7 years old. He had a small bag of chips in front of him and sat in the chair, on his own feet so he could be at the proper height to use the table. He lazily nibbled his snack and looked around at people. When he finished the chips, he walked over to the counter and sat a few stools away from me. Maybe he was a grandchild to one of the people who worked there.
A lady sat in front of the little boy's table, at the next table. I couldn't see what she was eating, but she had the paper all spread out in front of her and was focused on reading. No one bothered her with questions like, "can I get you anything else." A man sat at the opposite end of the counter from me, drinking a coffee as well. The red haired, round lady walked over to chat with him from behind the counter and the man sort of seemed to be waiting for this. As they talked, I realized he couldn't really. His voice was so hoarse and crusty it came out like a forced whisper. The man behind the counter took fresh loaves of bread from the oven and placed them in the baskets, as the lady and the customer talked.
I finished my coffee and stepped to the register and asked for my bread, "una chapata integral, por favor," ("a loaf of wheat bread please"). The man rushed to get it and wrapped it in the little piece of paper, taping it closed. The lady rung me up and gave me my change, with a large, genuine smile on her face. I tucked my bread under one arm, my book under the other and headed for the door, saying, "hasta luego," as I went, still attempting to master it. The man said the same as I headed back out into the rain and tip-toed across the plaza so not to get my pants wet.
I made contact in Zizur! I talked effectively with the people in the cafe and will hopefully go back and make my face one of the regulars and get to know the shop keepers and maybe be sitting there the next time an American wanders in and nervously sits at the counter with a book and surveys the scene. This is the advice Kev gave me when I left, to make myself a regular at a cafe and read a lot. So, here comes year two, and hopefully I'll take his advice and got get the bread every day.
The whole experience, which may seem small and silly to some, cost me one walk in the rain and a euro eighty for my coffee and bread. I'm not sure what we're having for lunch yet, but I know there will be bread involved.
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