La Sauceda – part two (Pistols and flaming spoons are dangerous)

We went to La Sauceda with our friends Óscar, Alexandra and Daniel.    The weekend was a language mash-up of Spanish, English, German and the wordless but effective language of one year olds.   Alexandra is from Austria and Oscar is Spanish, from a very small village in León.  The culture in the northern villages is quite different from life in Algeciras.  Apparently, in Óscar’s village people keep a bottle of strong liquor called Orujo on the table in case their coffee gets cold.  You take a spoonful of Orujo, light it on fire and stir it into your coffee.  Much more fun than the microwave, don’t you think?

(Orujo is serious gut rot liquor made from the pressed grape skins left over during wine production.  I’ll tell you more about Orujo another day.  I have LOTS of Orujo stories. )

Little Daniel is a busy guy.

He is just a week older than Yago and it is fun to watch their different personalities developing.

Yago is bigger, but Dani definitely has the upper hand.  Yago didn’t know what to make of Dani’s interest in stuffing  clothes pegs up his shirt.

But as I said before, all that nature to explore and both boys were more interested in ripping apart the cabin.

Pulling beer out of the cooler was especially popular.

Yago stood guard at the door so he could get a head start if  Dani came to investigate the cooler.

Yago likes Óscar a lot.  He needs someone else to mooch off.

I like to mooch off Óscar too.  He always brings us dry cured meat that his Dad makes.

It is called Cecina and basically it is the cow based equivalent of jamon. Just take a hunk of beef,  leave it out in the dry heat of León for a couple years and VOILA.

Óscar also cooked up some chorizo on the fire.

I am not usually a fatty meat lover, but I ate more than my share of these flame broiled chorizo sausages.  I used the breast-feeding excuse.  Gotta keep my energy up.

Óscar is also very brave, perhaps due to his rural upbringing, wrestling livestock and flaming spoons up there in León.  I would not risk laying on the grass with two diaperless boys doing laps around my head.  At one point I heard him say in Spanish, “Put your pistols away, boys.”


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