Last week, I began preparing early for the Thanksgiving Feast that my American friend and I were going to cook for all our European friends. We created a fabulous menu and split up all the ingredients that we needed to get. We were going to have everything from Turkey to Mashed Potatoes to Sweet Potatoes to Caesar Salad to Corn to Cranberry Sauce and so on. I went to my favorite store, Mercadona, and started piling things into the basket. I kept crossing everything off the list. Finally I was down to only one ingredient: Dried Tomatoes. I don’t remember now what they were for, but as they were on the list, they must have been necessary.
I normally refrain from speaking to anyone at the store for fear of making a fool of myself. But I was feeling extra bold and in a hurry that day so without even thinking about it, I began to ask the man unpacking vegetables in the vegetable aisle where the Dried Tomatoes were. Unfortunately, I forgot the word for “dry” seco and confused it for the word “dirty” sucio.
ME: Perdona, estoy buscando tomates sucias. Excuse me, Im looking for dirty tomatoes.
HIM: Que?! What?!
ME: Tomates sucias. Dirty tomatoes.
HIM (eyes looking like they´re going to pop out of his head): QUE?
ME: Pequenas rojas y sucias! Small, red, and dirty! (Here I started using my hands to show him what they look like.)
HIM: Sucias?!?!?
ME: Si! Puequenas tomates sucias! Estaba buscando en todos los sitios y no puedo encontrar ningunas pequenas tomates sucias!! No puedes ayudarme? Yes, Little dirty tomatoes. I have been looking everywhere and I cant find any little dirty tomatoes! Cant you help me?
The whole time he was looking at me like I was crazy and other people had started getting involved. Someone went over to the regular tomatoes and started going through them. Strangely, no one was laughing. Then the grocery man finally realized what I was talking about and shaking his head he said, “Secos,” as he handed me a bag of little, red, dried tomatoes. Awkward.
The Little Observer 