Zanahoria : Del ár. hisp. *safunnárya, y este del gr. σταφυλίνη ἀγρία staphylínē agría ‘zanahoria silvestre’.
Diccionario de la Real Academia Española
I really ignored the existence of the carrot until 1955 when my family and I moved to Mexico City from Buenos Aires.
Our second house after a few months in another was on Guillermo Shakespeare. Latin Americans, when possible translated into Spanish given names. Not too far from our Guillermo Shakespeare was Plaza Jorge Washington.
My mother soon learned when taking a taxi home to properly pronounce the name of our street. She would tell the driver “Llévenos a la calle Guillermo Shak (rymes with Jack) s (s in English) peh — ah — re (the musical note). To place the house she would say ,”Casi esquina con Marqués de Lafayette.” In Mexico City the different neighbourhoods are called colonias. Our house was in Colonia Nueva Anzures.
On the corner with Lafayette and Shakespeare there was a juice bar. It was there that I discovered the delights of carrot juice. I could not quench my thirst of carrot juice because it was expensive.
My youngest daughter found out about this some 15 years ago so she gave me a juicer. I had juice for days until I found out that the carrot juice would stain the insides of the juicer orange (imagine the lining of my stomach!). Someone gave me the tip that if you rubbed the stain with salad oil the orange would go away. I became lazy and exiled the contraption to the basement.
Back in January (during our slow move to our new house) I found the juicer and guilt prevented me from executing the term we used of getting rid of stuff we did not want or need “dumpomatic.”
I am happy to report that since the middle February to now I have been indulging in my carrot juice in the evenings before bed. Sometimes I use a couple of celery sticks. A bit of Maldon Salt and good black pepper finish off my so favourite concoction. This time around the juicer will remain in the kitchen.
Thank you Hilary.
Originally published at blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com.