HelluvaGirl

It’s very complicated to persuade her to eat something that’s not bananas, Greek yogurt or toast. We have a nice walk in the evening but I know she’s hungry and it bugs me that she never gets as hungry as to eat whatever the hell is on the menu.

She likes mashed potatoes.

I tell her Spaniards don’t eat things like that but they eat a lot of amazing stuff and as we’re here, we might as well explore the tastes.

My rationalisations don’t work. We pass by a tapas bar. She doesn’t want tapas, of course.

Somehow we circle around to appear at the entrance of the same place again, Pulperia. We come in. The waiter doesn’t really speak English. However, as I sit down, he playfully invites Pia to the square bar with a variety of local snacks. Dios mios, they have potatoes! He shows her around, I see his face but not hers behind the bar, and in a minute she comes back to collapse at the table. I tell her it’s no big deal she doesn’t understand him – I don’t really understand him either. We will just have whatever she ordered, no problem. And she doesn’t have to go talk to people if she doesn’t want to.

The waiter comes back with a plate of croquets. He draws a smiley face with ketchup on the plate and puts it in front of Pia. Her face lights up like sunshine. She glances at me – what a funny dude, mum! 

As she eats her potatoes, she keeps drawing smiley ketchup faces.

The waiter passes by to give something to her. Pia’s gleaming. When he goes away, she tells me to look under the table. It’s a lollipop. My daughter’s in love.

Can we come here every night, mum? I could bring him a chocolate chip cookie tomorrow.

I laugh.

You know, maybe it’s better to not show how much exactly you like them.

For visual impressions, please visit my Instagram account @krislaurin.