A matter of identity: Chasing a “tortilla” sandwich

While I am still trying to assimilate the book I have read in French Les Identités Meurtrières by Amin Maalouf (a must!!!) and still wondering about personal and community identities, I am facing the fact of the disappearance of the French Omelette “bocata”. Last Thursday I did not have time to have a proper lunch, so I decided to have my favourite sandwich. My first attempt was a bar I had visited in the past quite often. The owner was a very nice, stout lady with a fresh, friendly and county look, who used to ask me to keep an eye at her bar while she was in the kitchen making the omelette. She was not there, instead I found a Chinese looking young woman, very polite and smiling by the way, but she could not understand “un bocadillo de tortilla”, please. She looked so puzzled that I wasn’t even able to ask what had happened to the previous lady. I finally gave up and went into another bar in the neighbourhood and asked for the same thing. The man, this time, said “de patata”? I corrected him “francesa” I said, so I could get my precious desire accomplished. He was sorry but he could not make such sandwich. My third attempt was another bar on the corner. I asked for the food almost reluctantly and completely decided to fast in case nobody could make it. The bar tender said that his stove did not work and he could only offer me a tuna, cheese, jam or sausage sandwich. I probably showed my discouragement so clearly that a man having his “carajillo” looked compassionately at me and said. “Go across the street, a few meters down, they’ll make you one there”. That was going to be my last attempt and I was so happy to hear after my request “kitchen, a French omelette sandwich, with tomato!”, “marchando!” was the answer from the rear room. I think I’ve never enjoyed a meal so much as I did last Thursday but I fear the disappearance of a real identity meal. At least it is for me! Are you ready to fight that reality? Or, are we fighting against the inevitable?