Force Feeding

I never thought I’d do it, but I finally cracked. A month ago I would have never agreed to eat at a noodle bar while in Spain, but a few things forced me to this point. Spanish food is fantastic, don’t get me wrong, but I feel that it is a natural human tendency to desire change once in a while. Combine this with the fact I was feeling too lazy to engage in Spanish conversation before filling my starving stomach, and you end up with me at a tasty little noodle bar in the north of Valencia.

Noodle bars are fantastic; I’ve been waiting to try Momofuku in Manhattan for a while now so I decided to sample the Asiatic delights of Valencia. The place was legit: benches instead of tables, small menu that doubled as a place mat, food made to order, when you ordered and a pushy Indonesian woman keeping a sharp eye over every corner of the restaurant.

The food was good enough but the experience is what I really want to write about. As I dined with my friend, an older Spanish woman sat down on the bench next to us. She asked a few questions about what we were eating, then kept to herself. After a few slurps of soup, we started talking. She was a pediatrician who has lived in Valencia for 30 years and had just finished a trip to the modern art museum. Her English was superb and she was happy to be practicing it on us. After my friend and I finished our meals, we stayed and chatted with this charming lady. She asked us why we didn’t order dessert (almost unheard of at a Spanish table) but seem satisfied when we explained our situation as poor students. This is when the magic happened.

The whole time she was waiting for her dessert, she explained how to make flan and enlightened us to other Spanish postres. When the waitress brought out a large plate of Flan with pumpkin custard, we were salivating. Whether she noticed the hunger in our eyes, or is just the nicest lady ever, she offered us a sample. I sat back and watched.

First, the woman expertly crafted a forkful of every morsel and flavor in her dish, as she handed the fork over to my friend, she didn’t release the utensil as it reached his hand. Perplexed, my buddy made another attempt for the fork, but the woman was relentless. My buddy eyed me, glanced at the lady, looked at the tantalizing dessert and finally opened his mouth. Like a loving grandmother feeding her sweets-crazed children, the lady proceeded to spoon feed her flan to both my friend and me. We were shocked, confused and satisfied all at once. Thank goodness for noodle bars.