I made a definitive discovery of where my eat-til-i-vomit gene descends from - a little place in the north of Spain called Asturias.

This weekend was a marathon food-fest. On Friday I started out thinking this isn't bad, there are worse things to be force fed than arroz con leche (rice pudding). Boy was that point proven when they busted out the pig tripe the next day!

There's a very fine balance between complimenting the chef and expressing so much interest that you're served more. Not taking second and third helpings is a personal affront. If you even so much as glance at a piece fruit, it will be cut up on a plate in front of you before you can say no gracias. I needed a serious lecture in "Just Say No" before I went.

All in all though, it was a great time. It's nice to know that we have family, no matter how distant, just an hour away by plane. Plus it's fascinating to imagine what life would be like if my great-grandfather hadn't punched out the factory foreman in a bar and been forced to move to the US to look for work...