Some people move to Spain and immediately integrate into the culture. They learn to roll their Rs, drink vermouth at lunchtime, and develop an opinion on where to get the best jamón ibérico.
I am not one of those people.
I thought I was. I thought I could be. I thought, “You know what? I live here now. I should cook like a local.”
So I picked something simple. Something basic. Something that required only three ingredients and absolutely no special skills.
Tortilla de patatas.
Eggs. Potatoes. Onion.
What could go wrong?
I don’t even know where to begin.
The Market: Where It All Started to Unravel
I walked into the market with confidence. I was going to make a tortilla from scratch, like a real Spanish grandmother. I was going to buy the best potatoes, the freshest eggs, the kind of onions that old men at the vegetable stalls nod approvingly at.
Instead, I stood in front of a pyramid of potatoes, panicking.
Because guess what? There are too many types of potatoes.
I picked some at random, hoping for the best. The egg stall was worse. The vendor asked me something in Spanish, and instead of responding like a normal human, I panicked and just said, “Sí.”
Sí to what? I don’t know. Sí to expensive, unnecessary organic eggs? Sí to admitting I have no idea what I’m doing? Sí to being scammed? Probably all of the above.
By the time I left the market, I had spent more money than necessary, forgotten to buy olive oil, and was already questioning my life.
And I hadn’t even started cooking yet.
The Cooking Process: A Rapid Descent Into Chaos
Back home, I laid everything out like I was about to be on MasterChef. I put on music. I told myself this was going to be a peaceful experience.
It was not.
Step 1: The Potatoes—An Immediate Disaster
I had read that you’re supposed to cube the potatoes, not slice them, so I started cutting. Immediately, they were the wrong size. Some were normal cubes. Others were abominations.
I tried to fix it. I made it worse.
Still, I pressed on. I heated up way too much olive oil in a pan, added the potatoes, and within seconds—they were sticking. I stirred, I shook the pan, I pleaded with them to behave. Nothing worked.
Meanwhile, the onions were burning.
I yanked the pan off the stove, nearly dropping half the potatoes on the floor. The whole thing looked wrong.
I should have stopped there. But no.
Step 2: The Eggs—The Moment I Knew I Was in Trouble
This part should have been easy. Crack the eggs into a bowl, whisk them, mix with the potatoes, pour it back into the pan. Basic. Simple. Foolproof.
I cracked the eggs directly into the potatoes.
I don’t know why. I think my brain just checked out. The second the first egg hit the still-hot pan, it cooked instantly.
Now I wasn’t making tortilla. I was making a scrambled egg and potato crime scene.
Panic set in. I tried to mix it. It turned into an unholy, lumpy mess.
I could have accepted defeat. But I didn’t.
I decided to flip it.
Step 3: The Flip—A Catastrophe in Three Acts
Real Spaniards flip their tortilla with grace. They do this thing where they place a plate over the pan, invert it, and slide the tortilla back in. I had watched at least five YouTube videos of this process. It looked easy.
I grabbed the biggest plate I had, put it over the pan, and took a deep breath.
Then—chaos.
- The plate was too big.
- I hesitated mid-flip, which is the worst possible thing you can do.
- Half the tortilla came out. The other half did not.
Now, I was holding a plate covered in raw egg and semi-cooked potato, and the rest of it was glued to the pan like a regrettable tattoo.
I should have stopped. I should have thrown the whole thing in the bin and gone to a bar for a proper tortilla.
But I kept going. I tried to reassemble it.
By the time I got the thing back into the pan, it no longer resembled food.
A Deeply Personal Shame
I stared at my creation. It was gray. It was lumpy. It had weirdly crispy edges and a middle that was still suspiciously liquid.
I took a bite.
It tasted… of regret.
Somehow, I had both overcooked and undercooked it at the same time.
I chewed. I swallowed. I hated myself.
And then, because I refuse to waste food, I ate the whole thing.
Did I feel accomplished? No.
Did I feel full? Yes, but not in a good way.
Lessons Learned
- Some things should be left to the experts.
- I am not Spanish enough for this.
- The pre-made tortilla at the grocery store costs €2 and is delicious.
I am never doing this again.
