Spilt Milk or Adventures in Eating

Amy and I moved in to our apartment this afternoon. We unpacked and then headed to the Supermercado around the corner for some groceries. First lesson in grocery shopping here - it doesn't appear that chicken is sold in anything less than a quarter of a chicken. And boneless skinless is MIA. So what to eat. Ummm... spaghetti? That's easy, there is only one option for spaghetti sauce. Now for breakfast. Milk comes in plastic bags. Actually everything comes in plastic bags - mayonaise, ketchup, yogurt, salt. So we get some milk. But somewhere between the milk and the pasta (about four feet), the milk bag starts leaking and we are now walking in a puddle of milk. Hmm... what does one do? We looked around, didn't really see any way to call for a cleanup on aisle three (there were only three aisles) and put the milk back, with the hole facing up and quickly moved away from the scene of the crime.

So back at the apartment... oops we don't have a lighter for the gas stove. No problemo. We head out to a little convenience store next door. We get to the place and then realize we have no idea how to say lighter. They are right behind the guy at the counter. Brave Amy steps up to the plate - "Yo quiero fuego?" Luckily he knows what we are talking about, hands us a lighter and responds "encendedor." I think that man might teach us a lot of Spanish while we are here.

Ok stove covered. But we are short on saucepans and decide to nuke the sauce. The microwave is nearly incomprehensible. I ended up pushing all the buttons (including pudin) which seem to do nothing and eventually find the 30 second button. But back to pudin. Amy and I are thoroughly confused and I joke that it's the pudding button. That can't be possible. But my handy dandy Spanish dictionary says it's true. Pudin = Pudding. What the heck? Who needs a button on a microwave for pudding? Who microwaves pudding? Ah the mysteries of life.