Costillas 10 : Cisnes 0

Despite my dictionary's assertion that "costillas" means "cutlets", let me assure you that it is used here in the sense of "ribs". As in barbecued ribs. The finger-lickin' kind. The kind I had for dinner this evening. "Cisnes", of course, means "swans". As in "Una noche en el lago de los cisnes" (Swan Lake). Or - in my case - una noche no en el lago de los cisnes. Rather, una noche en el restaurante de las costillas.

Yes, gentle readers. Once again my total philistinism with respect to the dance reasserts itself with full force. When I went out this afternoon, it was with the full intention of going to watch the free performance (in honor of the feast of San Isidro) of Swan Lake being staged tonight at the lake in the Retiro Gardens (Madrid's equivalent of New York's Central Park). Tamara Rojo. Carlos Acosta. The Ballet Nacional de Lituania. What's not to like?

Well: the 3-hour wait before entry to the bleachers, for one thing. The distinctly uncomfortable look of said bleachers, for another. The fact that I had forgotten my pullover, in a fit of optimism about the weather. The distance from the bleachers to the stage in the middle of the lake. The fact that I really detest ballet, if one is to be honest about these things. (I can tolerate it by closing my eyes and pretending I'm at the symphony, but that kind of defeats the point).

And the fact that it wasn't scheduled to start until 22:00. That's 10:00 pm, people! What about dinner? It's well and good for the madrileños to saunter into the evening well after midnight to look for a place to cenar (because you know that most of them are going to hacer el puente, and take tomorrow off). But I have class at 9:00 am tomorrow. And there was the consideration of dinner.

So, I regret to admit that the spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. And speaking of flesh, for some reason, this total craving for meat descended upon me, right around the time that I was coming to the decision that waiting around was not for me. What good fortune, then, to stumble across the Restaurante Abanico, specializing in ribs, on my way back towards the apartment. Tasty, juicy, delicious ribs.

So, the score for the day - ribs 10 : swans 0. I'm sure Tchaikovsky would have understood.