My brother got married a couple of weeks ago (Zorionak Tony and Christmas!) and some of my dad’s family came over from Spain for the festivities, including my dad’s brother and sister, two sisters-in-law, and several nieces and nephews with their significant others. 13 in all, a large crew that made even the simplest of activities a challenge in coordination.

We started off with dinner at Louis’ Basque Corner in downtown Reno. We got there late as they had a long drive from San Francisco. So, we sat down and the courses started coming out — beans and chorizo, followed by salad, then lamb. By the time the lamb came out, they were starting to make noises about how much food it was, and we hadn’t even gotten to dessert yet…

…which takes me to an aside. Whenever I go to the Basque Country, every meal is a big event and each family wants to host one. For them, it is one big fancy meal hosting the American nephew/cousin, but for me it is a series of gorging fests and I literally put on 5-10 pounds after about a week. Plates and plates come out of the kitchen and I’m constantly told “come mas!” as I clean up all of the plates (ok, I enjoy the food, but the quantities are a little daunting)…

So now, the shoe is on the other foot, and they are being given American portions, which are typically bigger than other places, though in all, probably not any more than what I typically am fed in Euskadi. And they are complaining about too much food. The next few days continue the trend. We spend a few days in Tahoe where we made lunch and dinner. Cooking for 13 (and a few more) meant that much of the day was centered on preparing food and then eating. By the end of the day, they were wanting more time to do things and less time centered around food. Something I think all the time when I’m there.

One night, we went to a Japanese restaurant for dinner, one of those where the cook prepares the food right in front of you. He put some oil on the grill and lit it. A big fire ball flared up, and my uncle jumped back in his seat in surprise. But, even worse was when he asked where the bread is. I responded “no hay pan” and the look on his face couldn’t have been worse if I had just shot his favorite dog. He was truely horrified. Though, in the end, he did adapt (though I had to finish his dinner! Too much food again! I can’t count how many times I’ve been told, in Euskadi, to eat more and you won’t have to eat tomorrow).

Don’t get me wrong, I love my family and enjoyed spending these few days with them. My dad spent many hours playing Mus with his nephews and had a great time. And it was really nice getting to know my cousins and their significant others better. Being “confined” with them meant much more interaction than I normally get in Euskadi. But it was entertaining to see the shoe on the other foot and them getting a taste of their own medicine, so to speak. I’m not sure they really saw it that way, I guess we’ll see the next time I visit them in the old country!