another tgif/men in the kitchen

Time always seems to pass more quickly here, from hour to hour, day to day, month to month. Even though as a freelancer I often find myself working weekends, Friday is still my favorite day of the week. When I worked at the publishing company, I loved the sense of escape that would pass over the office every Friday at about 3:30 when people would finally relax in anticipation of the weekend, and at 5:00 I would shut down my computer with great satisfaction. Now, Monday through Friday I feel as if I am still working for other people, with all the deadlines and e-mails to field. If I choose to work on the weekends, I believe it is my choice and I can do so in relative peace. This is going to be a working weekend, although the Big Jim and I also plan to make time for a little fun. There will be the beach trip Sunday afternoon, and tonight we are going out for a curry at Chez Spice, an Indian restaurant in our neighboring village. Because we live on a shoestring budget, a meal out is a treat for us. We usually save these occasions for when we have guests or birthdays, so it's especially rare that Big Jim and I go out on our own. That's not to say we don't eat particularly well every day. Big Jim and I love food and love to cook. I always say half the reason I get up in the morning is to eat. We normally alternate the cooking responsibilities from day to day, but recently because I've been so busy with work, Big Jim has been doing weekdays and I cover the weekends. I am very fortunate because no matter who is cooking, I always know I am going to have a great meal. Big Jim's sensibilities lean more toward Asian (including Indian) cuisine and I do more Italian/Mediterranean (plus good ole American cooking---I make a mean mac & cheese), so we have great variety in our diet and rarely make the same dishes more than once, except for the favorites. We tend more to survey the larder and see what's on hand and go from there. If anything, our latest brush with poverty has made us both much more creative in the kitchen. When Big Jim has received one too many rejections from employment agencies, he always heads straight to the kitchen and pulls out the canner. We have shelves full of his "recession" jams, chutneys, pepper sauces, hot and sour soup, pickled vegetables. After almost two years, our neighbors still can't get over the sight of Big Jim in the kitchen. The village remains traditional in regards to male and female roles, and the Spanish men only concern themselves with the consumption of food. The shopping for, preparation, and cleaning up of meals are all jobs for women. The men are not even allowed in the house when the women are cooking. They sit on benches throughout the village, dressed in their "uniforms" of olive green cardigans and brown trousers, chatting, smoking, and passing the time until 2:00, when the main meal is served. After they have eaten and had a little siesta, at about 4:30, the men wander back to the benches for more chatting and smoking. It's almost 10:30 am, which means in about 15 minutes, there will be a car down on the main street, Calle San Antonio, honking its horn. That will be the fish man. He comes by every day, same time, and the women all rush down to pick out the sardines, sole, gambas for lunch. I love that the village has a fish man; this kind of door-to-door delivery of fresh food is practically nonexistent now in the US. As I said, there are times when I feel like I'm living in a time warp. The village life appears to be at a crossroad of different eras. I sit in my office with my laptop and the DSL Internet line, but outside the window it could be 1954. This evening, though, Big Jim and I are going to be 21st century: I'm treating him to dinner. Hasta pronto, mylifeinspain