I mean, no I’m not

So I’ve changed my flight tickets around.

Instead of taking my last minute vacation in one and a half months, I’m going to wait six months. I guess I realized that while it might not break the bank, it will keep me from furnishing our new apartment in Phoenix. I really like having a bed, so I’ll wait on Venezuela.

So you might be wondering about my featured image up there. That is a logo that I designed (awaiting the addition of color and other coolness by one of my bff’s Gustavo) for the October 7th Presidential elections in Venezuela. I borrowed the caption from one of the local newspapers after a unified opposition candidate was named (Henrique Capriles Radonsky, who we love) in the first ever primary elections. It was a fun, action packed night as we all waited for the results to be announced and tweeted everything we saw and heard. The plan is to print and distribute T shirts and other fun things and to get the logo out for others to use free of charge for the same purpose- encourage the Venezuelan people both in Venezuela and especially abroad, to vote on the 7th of October. Of course we want Chavez out. The translation is “And now, to the 7th of October.”

In the meantime I’ve been going Pinterest crazy. Up until two days ago, I didn’t even know it existed. Now I’m wondering how I ever kept track of anything before.

That’s about it. Animals are happy, I’m working from bed, life is good.

Back to Venezuela

I’m headed back to my beloved Venezuela in a few short weeks. This is absolutely my first trip in seven years that is on a whim, last minute and doesn’t involve six months of planning or dieting. It is probably the most irresponsible decision that I’ve made in a very long time. It’s actually breaking a responsible streak that I’ve had lately. My Dad would say that I finally gained the adult-like quality of common sense. I’ve heard varying stories on at what age one usually receives this gift. Maybe it’s 28 and that’s why I’ve been making good decisions. Who knows. 

But alas, if something is going to break a responsibility streak, it might as well be a trip to Venezuela. Truth be told, it’s pretty exciting that at this young(ish) age I can decide to pick up and go abroad for two weeks without breaking the bank. Not everyone is too happy about the decision and in a moment of “oh my God, what have I done?!” I tried to cancel my ticket, though to no avail. So I’m headed to Venezuela on April 4th. Here we go again!

What would my life have been…

If I hadn’t been standing in that precise location on that specific day. We’ve bought a farm. Closing is on Thursday and then we’re all moving up to Richfield. This means that my focus is on horses, buying one, leasing one, training one and paying for one. Because of that, I drove to my old stomping grounds in Concord, NC. As I passed the Charlotte Motor Speedway, a mile or so up on the right was an old abandoned farm, barely recognizable with the overgrown pastures. It was an instant flashback to when I was a young teenager, standing with my Mom in the pasture as a car rolled slowly up the driveway, kicking up dust as it did. We were both mesmerized by it, having the distinct ear-buzzing feeling that something important was happening. There was a glitch in the matrix. That important thing stepped out of the car a few moments later, to which I commented “Ew! He looks like a total prep-school idiot” (If you’re reading this, I didn’t mean it…well ok, I did.)

As I passed this place yesterday on my way to the feed store, Mercedes Sosa’s classic song “Todo Cambia” was playing. Todo Cambia means Everything Changes, and I was overcome by just how much my life has changed since that…yes, its cheesey…fateful moment. Ok, it wasn’t all sunshine and puppies, and the situation ultimately ended in heartbreak, but it did one immensely important thing for me. It brought me to Venezuela. Had I not been in that precise place at the exact time, I wouldn’t have even thought about going to Venezuela. (“Where is that place anyway? Eastern Europe?” I once asked V. I was joking…really.) I wouldn’t know what an arepa is, and I wouldn’t have lived some of my favorite memories. Most importantly, I would never have met Carlos.

My life has changed in ways I won’t even bother writing about. Almost every single minor detail of my life has changed as a result of that one moment. I will always be grateful for that.

I mean heck…I’m biligual and a dual citizen (almost!)

Bienmesabe…tastes good to me!

So today’s culinary challenge is bienmesabe. Bienmesabe is a (surprise!) traditional Venezuelan cake with Spanish origins. There are several variations, with the original being based on almond cream and pistachios…I think. The Venezuelan version is made with coconut. It consists of two layers of sponge cake filled with a coconut cream and simple syrup and topped with meringue. It’s supposedly a relatively complicated recipe. We shall see. Here is the recipe I will follow, compliments of www.cookingalong.com

Sponge Cake:

• 6 eggs, separated
• 2 cups sugar
• 3 cups flour
• 1 tablespoon baking powder
• pinch salt
• 1 cup milk
• 50 gr (about 2 tablespoons) unsalted butter, melted, cooled and mixed with the milk

Coconut Cream

• 6 egg yolks
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 liter coconut milk (2 1/2 400ml cans)

Simple Syrup

• 1 cup water
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 tablespoon rum (optional)

Topping

• 6 egg whites
• pinch salt
• 1/8 teaspoon cream of tartar
• 1 1/4 cups sugar
• cinnamon powder or toasted coconut to finish

First we make the sponge cake. Turn the oven at 350. Butter and flour a 9x13x2 rectangular pan. Beat the egg whites until soft peaks, then add the sugar little by little and the yolks one by one.  In a separate bowl mix the flour, baking powder and salt. Add the flour mixture to the eggs mixture with a wooden spoon folding delicately so the eggs wont lose the air. Add the butter and milk mixture. Be careful not to over mix. Add to the pan and bake for 40-50 minutes or until a knife inserted in the middle comes out clean. Let it cool.

While the cake cools prepare the cream filling. Mix the egg yolks and sugar in a bowl until pale and thick. Heat the coconut milk until almost boiling point (be careful not to let it boil over!). Carefully mix the egg mixture with the hot milk little by little. Once all the milk is mixed into the eggs return the cream to the pan and cook in a medium heat stirring constantly until it thickens for about 5 minutes. Set it aside covered to cool down.

Prepare the simple syrup. Heat the water and sugar until all sugar is dissolved. Off the heat add the rum and let it cool.

Cut the sponge cake in half lengthwise, so you have two layers of cake. To assemble divide the cream in three parts. Place the first layer of cream in your serving plate (it’s usually served in a rectangular glass plate) add a layer of cake and top with simple syrup enough to cover (this will keep the cake moist and flavorful). Add another layer of cream and another of cake. Finish with simple syrup and cream. Cover and set aside in the refrigerator. When ready to serve prepare the meringue topping.

Meringue topping. Start beating the egg whites, when they start to form bubbles add the salt and cream of tartar (this will stabilize them). Beat until soft peaks then start to add the sugar little by little until glossy and stiff peaks form, being careful not to over beat the meringue. Preheat the broiler. Top the Bienmesabe with the meringue and broil it a few seconds or 1 minute until the meringue is golden brown.

Guasacaca has nothing to do with caca

So my cousin’s husband quit his job last week and naturally, we are going to celebrate with a barbecue. Everyone is bringing food and drinks and it looks like its going to be a rather gourmet barbecue due to my foodie family. Since I always like to incorporate my beloved Venezuelan cuisine into any family gathering, I am making the traditional Venezuelan barbecue sauce called “Guasacaca.” There are many versions of this delicious sauce. Some have avocado, some don’t. Some have tomato, some don’t. Since I couldn’t remember which one my local empanada stand used to serve, I called all of the women in my Venezuelan family. They were divided as well, although most said “con aguacate, sin tomate.”

So I went to the supermarket in search of the ingredients. Green pepper, aji dulce, corn oil, cilantro, onion, parsley and of course, avocado.

Surprise! No ripe avocados. Ok…what should I do? I bought the ingredients anyway and headed home. Since I always try to justify what I make as traditional, even if it’s not I googled “Guasacaca venezolana tradicional sin aguacate” which means “Traditional Venezuelan guasacaca without avocado.”

I found one that claimed it was the most traditional of the traditional because it was the one you found in ketchup-like squeezy bottles at empanada stands and arepa vendors. Here is the recipe:

1/2 bunch of cilantro, roots and lower stems removed
1/2 bunch fresh parsley leaves
1/2 Purple Onion, quartered
1/2 Large green bell pepper, seeded and deveined
4 aji dulce, halved (sweet pepper ) *optional*
4 garlic cloves, whole
6 tbs. Corn Oil
3 tbs. Red wine vinegar
1 tbs. Salt
Pepper to taste
1/4-1/2 cup water

Put all ingredients in blender and add 1/4 cup water. Blend on coarse setting for 20 seconds, stir, then repeat 2 more times.
Add additional 1/4 cup of water little by little. You want a creamy and not watery consistency with very very small chunks. It should be able to go through a “ketcup-like sqeezy bottle” (technical term)

Use on top of anything grilled, in arepas, squeeze into cooked empanadas, or use as a dip for plantanitos. Add 2 very ripe avocados and blend even more coarsely for a different style guasacaca.

Buen provecho!

That’s not me

There was this fashion show. I spent two weeks preparing for it. I bought a dress, shoes, jewelry, a fake tan, a hair cut, and everything else. I tried really hard to be “that person.”  You know, the one who is always very put together: perfect makeup, hair, nails manicured, and always fashionable. I tried really hard, and I even thought I had pulled it off. I was completely red carpet ready. This event was advertised as high-end, a who’s who kind of thing. There would be a red carpet, photographers, wine and champagne abounding. But I’m not that person, and today I feel foolish for even bothering. I feel foolish for letting my expectations get the best of me, and I am resolved to only be who I really am. I can be fashionable and put together, but not in an obsessive kind of way. Yes, I will leave the house without makeup (only when I’m not in Venezuela though.) I will bite my nails and not really care too much that they are not perfectly polished. I will even go a few weeks without waxing my eyebrows. But I love good food, wine, and yes, even fashion. I can appreciate those things without being a slave to them, because I also love the mountains, and the crisp air in October. I can still smell apples from the orchard near the house I grew up in, even though I am hundreds of miles away. I love foreign countries, especially if I can live there illegally for some time, and then live there legally too. I love that Venezuela isn’t perfect, but the women, my friends, think they are.

I arrived to the fashion show with high expectations, only to find out it had been horribly over sold, and a building with a capacity of 600 was filled with 1300 people, most of them wearing skimpy clothes that didn’t even begin to resemble anything truly fashionable in the least. I felt out-of-place because I wore something with color – a beautiful Halston Heritage 1 shoulder caftan dress. I sat at the front row VIP table with the who’s who of the event, but I couldn’t breathe because I felt like a sardine. I took my red carpet photo, but sweaty from the stress of catering the event and trying to fit in.

In the end, I realized I can fit into that scene if I want to… but do I want to?

This is a good thing

I’ve spent the last half hour uploading hundreds of old-ish photos to my new flickr account (it uploads so darn fast!) an it’s really given me a chance to remember some things I’d forgotten. This is a good thing.

First of all, I’ve had an adventurous life! No, I’ve not been backpacking in Europe, but I have been on a 16 hour-long bus ride sans air conditioning from Big Low in Valencia to Puerto Ayacucho, Amazonas. I’ve crossed a river on a “chalana” (or raft) at sunrise with a double-decker bus almost tipping over. I’ve jumped into a natural jacuzzi on a natural rock slide in the Amazon jungle. It was a deep (and I mean deep, no one has touched the bottom) hole in the middle of a large, smooth rock. I’ve taken the bus all by myself from Valencia to Tucacas and back again twice and lived to tell the tale (you’ll notice that many of my adventures in Venezuela have to do with busses. There’s a reason for that.) I’ve been rappelling in Las Chimeneas in Valencia. I’ve spent ample time at some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. I’ve been an illegal alien in a third world country. I’ve nearly been deported. I’ve bribed numerous officials in Venezuela. And most importantly, I’ve travelled to a foreign country with a false promise, had my expectations broken down around me, yet come out of it a better person.

I’ll tell a quick story about a life changing moment for me in Venezuela, and one that ultimately led me to meet Carlos. After arriving in 2007 and realizing that the reason I went there (we’ll call him “V”) wasn’t a reason anymore, I was so lonely and miserable for several weeks. I had decided to stay the full two months anyway, but I was beginning to regret it. One night, while sitting in my room in the big and beautiful house in El Parral, I made a decision. I would walk down to the little club on the corner in the vibrant Las 4 Avenidas and sit there until I made a friend. It was a desperate move, but it paid off. So I walked, in the middle of the night (something V had been obsessed with preventing) to a bar which was not-so-creatively named “Drinking Bar”. It was a hole in the wall where almost everyone my age would go. You would go inside, buy a beer, and then come outside to hang around and drink it. Nothing fancy, but it was full of the typical 4 Avenidas kids. The “sifrinos”. I bought myself a beer, propped myself up against the wall that separated the outside part of the bar with the street, and I sat there. That’s all I did. I sat and waited. I even stooped so low as to play with my phone, which wasn’t even connected. I pretended to be doing something very important. I was truly desperate. Finally, two people recognized two things. 1. I was a gringa and 2. I didn’t know anyone. They took mercy on me. Their names are Nairy and Vanessa. We became best friends. They approached me, and recognizing my foreign-ness, spoke to me in English. We all lived only a few blocks from there, and for all the years I lived in Venezuela, I was never lonely again. They brought me to the place where I met Carlos. Halfway through that vacation I nearly gave up, and I hopped on the bus back to Valencia, ready to pack up and go back home to the states. They convinced me to return, so back I went on the bus to Tucacas. That night I met Carlos. I miss them. I still speak to Nairy (although not as often as I should.) Unfortunately, Vanessa passed away about two years ago from cancer. She was 25 I believe.

Through this adventure of uploading photos, I’ve come to realize that I have had an amazing and privileged life.

I’m back, but not really

I realize that in order to expect people to actually read your blog, it’s probably best to actually write in it. Hmm… I still haven’t learned that lesson! I refuse, I repeat, I refuse to have this blog disappear, even if it does take me months to feel like writing again.

Ok, enough of that. It’s the first week of April and the weather is bipolar. Last week it was stormy and 39 and today it’s sunny and it’s expected to reach 70. The trees are green again and there are flowers everywhere. I am currently sitting on my computer at our uptown bakery waiting for someone…anyone…to come in and buy some pastries. Weekends are slow but I expect that this will become my normal writing time.

Just as I wrote that about 20 people came in, all wanting lattes. Which is great actually because we’re normally so slow on the weekends. It must be the change in weather that is bringing everyone out today.

My last post was back in September of last year (oh the shame!) and it was about my chronic travel bug. Well, it’s still there. The only difference is that then, I wanted desperately to leave the country. Now, all I want is to travel to the Appalachian mountains of North Carolina, in my own state. I’ve fallen head over heels in love with them. I go there any chance I get, which is pretty often since I live only an hour and a half from the hub of the mountains, the wonderful city of Asheville.

In other news, Carlos is still taking his medical licensing tests. To kill time, he is volunteering at a great little clinic about halfway between Charlotte and Asheville. The bonus? It’s a free clinic which serves a lot of migrant workers and low income agricultural workers which gives him the opportunity to use both  English and Spanish. He made the most amazing comment to me last week, and it gave me a quick glimpse of what the future might hold. He said “I just want to get my license so I can volunteer every day at that clinic.”

That’s how he is. Healthcare is a right, not a luxury, and he would give anything to spend his days practicing at a place like that. I saw us living in that area, maybe with a little cabin, perhaps opening an Amelie’s in Asheville. It’s a great thought for sure.

 

The bug

Oh no… I have the travel bug again. I guess it’s due to feeling stagnant here, surrounded by less-than-honest coworkers and people who think they are oh-so-smart yet act oh-so-stupidly plus having had out of town (out of country) house guests this past week. I have an overwhelming desire to use the geographic cure and escape somewhere far away. The North Carolina mountains would suffice, but then there is the issue of me always wanting to move to the places I visit for a minimum of a few months. Can I have that life please? I’ll work the rest of the year, but give me three months each year to live somewhere else- preferably somewhere abroad. I think I was born to be an ex-pat.

For now I’ll take a campsite in the woods… just give me a little stream with a swimming hole and I’m set.