At my grandparents’ house they served almond soup for dessert
Christmas is here. Time for memories, evocations and celebrations. Over the years, things have changed and circumstances and fashions have also changed.
The politicians strive to illuminate the streets in an exaggerated way and some even give the ears of the pedestrians with Christmas carols that pounding without stopping.
The pandemic is desperately trying to cancel company dinners, something I have never understood, in a world of tripping, envy and even hatred, but that moment food and drink seem to forget.
It is said that Christmas Eve or Silent Night, in some cases it becomes a night of anger and discussion and even with interventions by the relevant authority to calm excited spirits.
The political climate does not contribute, especially at the moment to appease anything. I would say that you have to do an exercise in diplomacy and be inspired by the falsehood of Judas, copying the minister who has gone to Rome to spend forty-five minutes with the Holy Father. Those were forms, and the rest nonsense.
When I was a child in my grandparents’ house they served as dessert on Christmas Eve and Christmas an almond soup that had to be eaten, yes or yes, because it was the only dish that caused my beloved grandmother to enter the kitchen to do it, two days before, every year. An event and a sacrifice to take it, after the appetizers, the sea bream, the pheasant or the turkey and the desserts.
And the inevitable visit of Eduardito arrived, who lived in London, a native of the Sierra de Cameros, nephew of our aunt Candelas, an inveterate bridge player, always reminding his grandfather that from selling fabrics with a donkey, he came to found a Bank. This very cheesy Eduardito was given a side table with a plate of almond soup, while the others drank coffee, which he drank with evident effort and high praise to my grandmother, who never noticed the effort he made, while they others watched him and took the chocolates he had brought from England. That situation would not occur today. The Eduardito on duty no longer exists, the almond soup is too heavy for dessert and the English chocolates fill the shelves of the supermarkets. Even the character of our aunt Candelas would be unrepeatable today with that song of hers, when they asked her if she was a friend of this or that person and she answered that of «no, I don’t frequent her, no, she’s not pretty or elegant, she’s not rich She is utterly stupid uneducated. And with this sentence she was so calm, inhaling the smoke from her Kent cigarette, with a certain intoxicating air, like the lyrics of the song.
The Misa de Gallo did not exist for us. My great-grandfather died leaving a church in Valladolid, a victim of pneumonia, so no one dared take more risks and choose the prudence of not attending church that night, to avoid unnecessary risks. My grandfather died on Christmas Eve. From that date on, this celebration was suppressed in our house. Since then, my parents and I have spent them in different cities around the world, alone, with friends or with family.
Now I am a guest, attached and welcomed, by some friends with whom I find myself very pleasant and very comfortable.