Captain salted peanut man and other things I didn't post.........

Welcome all, glad you could make it. Let us begin with the latest edition of 'what I ate' otherwise known as 'The Adventures of Txakoli and Cazuela'.......

In this star studded episode we see Cidra de Manzana standing in for Txakoli, and a magnificent tour de force by Chulleta Ternera. Know what i'm talking about? no? get used to it folks.
So what the hell is a salted peanut man and what exactly is he captain of? good question.......
My editor in chief informs me that I need more non-culinary content, "break it up a bit" she says "more surfing stories" she suggests "where's my paycheque" she demands. Women.
Sure, more surfing stories, problem is surfing is hard to write about. I've found over the years the best way to describe it is in dialogue full of colloquialisms, slang and swearing (ha, I just nailed 'colloquialisms') 
Anyway, seeings that I am here alone with no other Aussies in sight dialogue is out of the question, unless....... I had the thought that all I need is an alter-ego, hence Captain Salted Peanut Man was conceived. And that's where the story ends for now.

This is my surfboard and trusty travelling companion for the last eight years. Never complains, doesn't eat much and always keen for a surf. Cant say the same for myself ha ha, especially last sunday when I got to the beach and the whole bay was one line of whitewash about a kilometre long. Look at the photo and imagine how big the wave must've been. The next set of waves that came in from the NW and wrapped around the rocks were pushing six metres
 biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig. 
Probably shouldn't have gone out - stewart (my board) is not cut out for big waves; at 6'1" he is a brilliant featherweight, but still a featherweight. But, it's in these waves that dreams are made, so.
Took my time getting into my traje and drank some extra water before I went out. Got past the shorie with only a little effort, found everything had gone eerily calm and quiet, except for the sound of my kneecaps rattling against my board. Had about another sixty odd metres to cover to get behind the monsters, and I was making pretty good ground. Round about this time a set usually appears, erases the horizon, unloads, and ruins your day before it has even started. Today was no different. Luckily it was only a medium set and I scratched over it, the snarling hiss of the beast was only matched by the hollow rumbling deep within its belly; hungry for fibreglass and flesh. Out of the corner of my eye I swear I saw something alive looking back at me. I nearly threw up as I dropped down the back of it.
Tried to hook into a few middle-sizers but it was hard to get the speed up to match em, days like this you could really use a few more inches ha ha (maturity people)
Didn't get to tangle with the beast I saw earlier, the tide turned and the bay started to swell out, still got a few thumpers; full extension drops like jumping off the roof of a house. Was pretty sore for it - bruised heels and aching tendons in my arms from getting thrashed.
Took on lighter pursuits for a couple of days, like smelling the morning paper. Yep, smelling. Elena passed on a copy of the Adelaide Review that she brought back from aus. As soon as she opened it I caught a great waft of the most delicious scent - Australian news print. If only you could bottle it....
Suggested to JM that he could use it in one of his dishes. Not really reflective of the new Spanish kitchen he reckons. Our pastry chef whipped up a batch of 'Torinjas' for easter - traditional dish of bread soaked in sweet milk and vanilla overnight before being fried. She left em sitting in a baking tray on the bench next to JM's office and he caught sight of it and you should've seen his face light up. He's just spent the week tearing the shit out of the 'bogavante' dish - reinventing it - and it looks absolutely sensational, and damn he is good, but like all good cooks his heart is firmly rooted in the traditional. The pastry chef caught him just as he was perched like a high diver, about to plummet spoon first into this batch of torinjas. She shooed him away like a pigeon, but the second she ducked out for a smoke the crafty bugger was back, spoon in hand, gleefully poking around like a naughty child.
Un abrazo.