There’s a woman in the village market who no longer makes eye contact with me. She used to. She even offered me free parsley once. But ever since The Incident, she’s kept a dignified distance—like I’m a contagious form of idiocy she’d rather not contract.
It all started with an aubergine. Or maybe it started with my stubborn refusal to admit I don’t really speak Catalan. Either way, it ended with me red-faced in the mercat municipal, holding two very large aubergines and being accused—loudly—of saying something filthy.
Apparently, the word I used for “firm” is, in certain regions, slang for a… specific part of the male anatomy. I was trying to compliment the produce. “Firm, beautiful aubergines,” I said, beaming proudly like some kind of Mediterranean Nigella. Pilar was standing right next to me and nearly dropped her melon.
I tried to apologise. I tried to explain in French. That made it worse.
Eventually I just backed away holding a parsley bunch like a white flag and promised myself I’d never, ever speak again in public.
I went home that afternoon and did what any self-respecting adult does after a public humiliation: I drank.
But—not just anything. Spanish wine. Organic Spanish wine. Which, until then, I thought was just a marketing thing. Turns out it’s a whole world. A quiet, earthy, beautifully obsessive world.
I started digging and somehow ended up on this glorious little website run by a retired American wine merchant living in Spain. I mean, talk about falling down the rabbit hole—in the best possible way. It’s called Four Chimneys Organic Wines and it’s a goldmine. Not stuffy. Not salesy. Just deep, honest insight into Spanish organic wine regions, the winemakers, the soil, the politics, all of it. Plus some truly great writing. You can tell he’s been in it. I’ve now read more about Garnacha than I have about my own family.
Go read it. Even if you don’t care about wine. It’s got that calm, “let me tell you something real” vibe I really needed after accidentally propositioning someone with a vegetable.
Reset derailment
Side note: the aubergines did end up in a dish later. I overcooked them out of spite. JC said nothing but I saw the fear in his eyes.
So yeah. I’m lying low for a while. Avoiding the market. Relearning how to say smooth without sounding like I’m flirting with a squash. And drinking a lot more wine, but in a scholarly way now. It’s research. It’s cultural.
Moral of the story: if in doubt, point and nod. And if you need to recover your dignity, drink something grown with patience and wisdom. Four Chimneys. You’re welcome.
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