Blog 21: How many PCV's does it take to change a light bulb?

Percentage of Spanish I understood This Week: 82%

Sorry for the late blog, y'all. I lost my ergonomic keyboard this past weekend. Earlier on Wednesday, I accepted the loss and went to the tech tienda near my house to buy a new one. At first, it didn't look like the keyboard was going to work, and I thought I'd been sold a defective one.

I was dejected, thinking I'd have to return to the store and somehow explain that the keyboard only worked when the batteries were placed at an angle with a finger on one for support. I put on the Rocky theme song, Googled the Spanish word for keyboard (teclado), and rehearsed what I would say to the guy confidently to myself in the mirror a few times. (I’m pretty sure local tiendas don’t have return policies?)

So I walked into the store and described the problem perfectly. To my surprise, the guy laughs. I laugh back to match his energy. He takes the keyboard, pops out the batteries, and rips a tiny piece of protective tape off the battery port. (Can’t win every time)

Then he asked if I was listening to his instructions when I bought it earlier that day. I laugh again, say, "Probably not," and tell him I'm a better speaker than listener. He gave me a kind of look that said he knew "better speaker than listener" was doing a lot of heavy lifting.

Anyway, I got home and did a little writing using the new keyboard, which, may I say, is precisely the kind of keyboard you'd expect to buy from a small tienda that sells Fortnite VBucks, universal remote controls, and eggs all in the same place.

Some keys have symbols that do nothing. I've never been an F key aficionado, but I've seen some of these open programs I’ve never encountered before. The F1 key takes me to Karol G's Spotify. The F4 key spawns a procedurally generated tamale, humita, and mote truck lady. (That one's for the real ones.)

(So funny enough, after I wrote this, I found my ergonomic keyboard in the space between my bed frame and my mattress, and now I've got two wireless keyboards for anyone interested. Hit me up.)

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Cook time!

Alright, I'm pulling out a Julie and Julia (2009 underrated gem)

As I've written previously, I'm trying to level up my cooking abilities to a point past my ability and resources, and I'm bored enough that the thrill of my host family not liking the dish is provocative enough to make it into prime-time entertainment.

The dish Last night? Honey Habanero Pork Chops with Carrots.

When I first started cooking for my host family, it was a significant milestone for them. The neighbors would come over and watch me as I tried to determine if the chicken was cooked through, and I'd look back. They'd look at me dramatically, trying to correct my chicken-making abilities. Whether I knew what I was doing and I accepted the advice and concern, though it hurt my ego like I hadn't lived on my own and mastered the art of making Chicken Tikka Masala in a tiny apartment kitchen.

So, 3 months into cooking regularly for everyone, the only thing that's changed is that there is now a baseline expectation for the quality of the food, but the belief in my ability to get to that quality is like a profound spiritual experience for everybody involved (including me at times)

So it's seven o'clock. I take a massive carrot and start chopping it into pristine slices. The usual audience of my host mom and the doctorita are watching me, commenting that my slicing has gotten more confident and manly (Fellas, is it gay to cut produce?) I then turn on the stove, get the big pan out, and put two tablespoons of olive oil mixed with about two squeezes of honey and a dab of hot sauce in there, which my host mom gave me the classic "Are you trying to kill us?"

Four minutes pass as the carrots are sautéing, and I feel an inquisitive energy take over the kitchen. To be fair to them, I've only briefly gazed at the recipe for about a minute, and the picture of the dish on the NYT cooking website looked intriguing, so as far as knowing what ingredients to use, I'm about as lost as they are in terms of how I get to the finished product.

During these four minutes, I realize I need to cut the pork into its pork chop nature, so I try to act like it's all part of the plan while simultaneously having 4 minutes to cut the pork, blot it with a paper towel, dress it with paprika, and keep the energy of the room inquisitive versus whatever the opposite of the word inquisitive is in a negative sense.

Was I able to pull that off? No, no, I wasn't. I encountered a problem where I realized I should have done more preparation and not hastily cut the pork loin into chops, as the thickness of the individual chops varied from about three-quarters of an inch to 1 1/2 inches. This is one of those things that, if I lived alone, I'd laugh to myself, but when you're the gringo in the kitchen, and there's an opportunity for a slightly relevant Ecuadorian life lesson?

"Mas vale prevenir que lamentar" - Host mom (Probably, I was thinking about Gladiator)

But anyway, even Tom Cruise uses stunt doubles, so you gotta risk it for the Texas Road House biscuit. The pork chops were cooked, and I took them off the burner. Then, I finally cook the sauce and switch out the habanero peppers for a shit ton of hot sauce which almost made my kitchen posse pass out at sight; I put in more honey and a slice of butter, making sure it conglomerates into maple syrup, looking sauce.

The final step was to put the pork chops into the sauce and allow one last basque in the marinade to take place. I get five plates and make a plate for each. At this point, I'm nervous since I haven't done a taste test since sautéing the carrots, so I'm just hoping that I haven't made the worst meal I've ever eaten. I sit down, putting on a confident face, as if their reaction to the food isn't how I judge the success of my day. I see the four at the table hesitant to take the first bite and play around with the carrots.

I see my host mom take the first bite.

"Muy Rico"

(I forgot to take a picture of the actual dish, but imagine this with some rice )

Of course, I also want to express that the content of this blog is my opinion and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Ecuadorian Government.

Keep on swimming people