Fish & Mojojon (I wanna touch)

Time goes by, and zenyeck essango leucke, almost two years have passed since we last gave some good aholks to cocinate. No time sobring anyway, and bien es verdad que not so often but we would like to take that thread again, and as far as possible –not an easy lan with two little cakenarres- keep our jarraitzaileitors’ feed elikated lantzean being.

The more I  sacconate in this fascinating etchecoandrew’s way of life, the more I understand so many facts that have lagunted me since the night of my times. For instance: why somewhen in the springtime, our mother jo-ta-started to bring once and again calabacins and pipers? We accabated overcartolled and, believe me, it was so disgusting... I have avoided calabacins for years, etara kontuack how used to amait. And pipers, hainbesting but not very conform anyway.

But these are the rests of anchiñake bizimodes. The cycles of nature. I have understood by now. Batez bee since I took the ardure of cocinating, and since I take part in the worried consum team (english for “kontsumo arduratsu taldea”-sic-) of Lecqueitio and I have jakited when each verdure grows –lechugs, pipers, borrajs, remolaches, tomats...- and so on with the frutes –saggars, madaries, laranjs, lemoys...-. This jackitury is as interesting for the osasun as for the sackel, you know: sassoy gender is betty much merck than invernator gender, hory if we don’t enter in the gustus gay: the recurrent topic about ortuko tomate’s taste invernaderokuan aldian, and so on.

I suppose that this matter has very much to do with nerabezator gay, which was the bizitch sassoy in that I happened to be in the gorago said calabacin’s affaire. What can be waited about a granulated person project, whose unique bizitch-helburoo is to mozkort in Elgoibar in the Saturday afternoon and play the bell at night? Ah, bloody sassoy where all gizakey should be hilled, no matter if the human race got extincted because of that. But barkate, my Krutwig-liked sein has harroted a bit too much: quiet little Federico! Quiet!

Well, I won’t luzate too much –I know that this inglesky can be hardly ulerted over two or three parrafs- and will try to lot to my primary asm: cocinament asunt.

As I said before, etcheckoandrews’ guideliburoes’ first lesson is to look betty for sassoy’s genders. That values for the arrain, of course. Well, by now I have incorporated in my urte-osock-routine two spices: tuna and anchove. There is Jesus Christ’s side between erosting tuna in tuna-sassoy (5 euro/kg) or out of it (15-20 euro/kg lassay ask); same thing with anchoves. But lot nadin to the hary-hary-hary-hey: that was the art of arrain-erosting. Not my intention to give a manual of arrain-saltzaile-fighting, just aipate a detail of how hard are the saltzailes we are treating with.

(Zenbat word only to say such an innocent thing; it’s ezagun that I have no asspaldy give a report)

I went to a fish&mojojon, cuyo name no quiero accordarmei... let’s call it Alone’s. So I go to Alone’s: “Good egunon! I want some trontzs of tuna fish. Zenbattian are they? (...) OK, put me three trontzs. Pothole ones, as I’m going to ass them in the parrel”. Well I start to wait (arrain saltzails are eager to berrikate with every bezzer that enters the tent). Somewhen, she finishes the trontzing-work and I hear that she tells me “My dear, I’ll put you this cocott piece too” (cocott is a not very appreciate piece of tuna that often remains saldu ezinda). Then I thought: “well, it seems that arrain-saltzailer wants to give me an oppary” (to fidelizate a new bezzer, you know) so I said her okay. But hara that I see her pissing the cocott with the rest of the tuna, and cobring me it in the same price as trontz, lassay ask gayner! Horisse dock gibbela!

Lehendick hacking issango bannew...! Cagho na cona que me botou...! Artian, I was just an apprendiz of etchecoandrew and I wasn’t able to react and tell her to put that cocott piece in a place where it fits her well. I had not oddol enough for it (ai, if she harrapated me now), and went out there with a disgusting sensation of having been iruzurted flagrantly. Since then I have no cuppid in the bassaty forest of the tents, where etchecoandrews’ law rules (queue-colling, etc). And, zer essanick ass, I never went back to Alone’s fish&mojojon.