Collaborative post
I didn’t notice it straight away. When we first moved to the UK, everything felt new enough to keep me busy. Different routines, different shops, even different meal ideas. At the beginning, it was almost enjoyable figuring it all out. But after a few weeks, the novelty wore off.
It happened on a quiet Sunday. Back home, Sundays always had a certain feeling to them. Something slow cooking, the kitchen a bit busier than usual, everyone taking their time. Here, it felt like just another day. I opened the fridge and realised I didn’t really know what I felt like making.
I tried to recreate a few familiar meals over the next couple of weeks. A tortilla that looked right but didn’t quite taste it. A simple dish that somehow felt slightly off, even though I followed the same steps. I kept thinking it was me, that maybe I’d just forgotten or rushed things.
But it wasn’t that.
It was the ingredients. Close, but not quite the same. And the more I tried, the more I noticed the difference. Not enough to ruin anything, just enough to make it feel unfamiliar.
After a while, I stopped trying so hard. It felt easier to just adapt and cook different things instead of chasing something that didn’t quite work anymore.
Still, I missed it, not in a big, dramatic way, but in small moments. The kind you don’t think about until they’re gone.
One evening, without really planning to, I started searching online. Just out of curiosity at first. I wasn’t expecting much, but I ended up ordering from Gastronomic Spain after a bit of searching.
I hesitated before placing the order. It felt a bit unnecessary somehow, like I should have moved on by now. But I did it anyway.
A few days later, the box arrived. It was just a normal delivery, nothing special about it. But opening it felt different. Familiar labels, things I recognised instantly without thinking about them. It made me realise how long it had been.
Some of the foods I used to eat back home were suddenly there in my kitchen again, as if nothing had changed. It felt oddly reassuring.
That weekend, I decided to cook something simple, nothing complicated, just one of those meals I used to make without thinking. And for the first time in a while, it worked the way I expected it to.
The smell, the taste, even the way it came together, it all felt familiar again. Not perfect, but close enough that I didn’t have to adjust or second-guess anything.
Since then, I haven’t tried to recreate everything. Life here has its own rhythm now, and I’ve adapted in a lot of ways. But every now and then, I go back to those meals.
And it’s not really about the food itself. It’s more about what comes with it, that sense of recognition, of things feeling the way they should, even if just for an evening.
It’s a small thing, but it makes being away feel a little less distant.