MADRID, SPAIN
Having grown up in a family filled with strong, loud and a tad overbearing Jewish women, I had automatically assumed no other culture in the world could touch the super-human force of nature and intimidation that is the Jewish mother. That was, however, until I met my señora, or host mother.
Don’t let her 4-foot-11-inch frame fool you. She’s a Galician beast. When she talks, the walls shake a little, the dog instantly quiets down and all other natural sound in the world is drowned out — you had better listen.
Her unquestionable dominance is most felt in the kitchen. When my señora cooks, she cooks for an army. Drawers in the fridge are filled with what has to be five dozen eggs stacked high. In the pantry, crates are overflowing with tomatoes, green peppers and apples, and milk cartons are bought by the half dozen. I came home from class last night and told her I wasn’t hungry. She told me to give her five minutes, and I was greeted with a giant four-course feast as she settled down into the chair across from mine at the dinner table. That’s the regular day-to-day mind game with my señora — rule number one: you are expected to eat every ounce of food on the plate (or else she takes it as a personal insult); rule number two: every day that plate grows; rule number three: the first two rules only apply to you, the eater. She never actually eats any of her food herself.
“Eat more,” she insists. “You don’t have enough meat on your bones.”
Needless to say, I haven’t won a single match.
She fixes my already-made bed, insists on ironing my underwear. During a night out with my friends after class, I received an angry phone call from my señora scolding me for not telling her I would be home late.
After my first week at my homestay, I was annoyed at all of the nudging. One mother is more than enough. I didn’t want to feel like I was in high school once again. Nevertheless, my attitude dramatically changed one night after I came home from a long day filled with unapologetic professors, a fight with a close friend and a walk home in the rain. I looked like a wet poodle and felt even worse. When I walked through the door, my señora gave me two big, wet kisses on the cheek, a big bowl of lentil soup and a cup of tea, no questions asked — exactly what I needed.
While I don’t have as much freedom as I did at AU, I realize how lucky I am to have someone who cares about my well-being while living in such a strange, new place. It also doesn’t hurt knowing you have a delicious hot meal and a warm, loving house waiting for you after a stressful day of classes.
So nowadays, even if I’m not hungry, I eat my “light dinner” of bread and omelet and soup and pasta and 12-inch-high veggie plate without a fight.
It’s comforting to know my mother has found some resourceful way to watch over me while abroad.
You can reach this columnist at thallerman@theeagleonline.com.
