Food and Wine in Spain. Part I.

I used to think I was moderately savvy about food and wine in Spain. After all, I know what tapas are, I've cook out of Penelope Casas's Food and Wine of Spain for years and I know the difference between a Ribera del Duero and a Rioja. I've even spent some time trying to perfect paella in Salt Lake City. After living in Spain for four months I now know that I didn't know nothin'. And I am happy I was so ignorant, because that means I have lots to learn. And that's what I've doing.

Food in Spain is simply amazing!! Rich or poor, countrified or citified, the Spanish take their food very seriously, and as a result the quality and diversity is a pleasure to behold (for a second or two before you put it in your mouth). There is no eat and run here. Food and drink are to be savored and serve as an opportunity for social interaction. Oh sure, there are fast food restaurants here, the same vile places you find in the United States (Pizza Smut, Starschmucks, Booger King, Kentucky Fried Chickenshit and McDoggle), but thankful they're across the river in the tourist zones and haven't yet invaded Barrio Triana, where we live. Walk into any cafetería (coffee shop) here in Triana and ask for a latte to go and they look at you as if you were from Mars. And, you know what? You are! So forget about that latte-to-go in a soggy cardboard cup and sit down for a cortito or a café con leche in a real porcelain cup and relax. What's your hurry anyway? (While the Spanish don't eat and run, they do spend a disturbing amount of time standing while they eat. Many of the tapa bars in Triana don't really have places to sit. You are expected to stand at solar-plexus-high tables to eat or eat at the bar. I wonder if that is why so many people around here walk with canes.)

The Spanish, thankfully, recognize that eating is a bodily function that cannot be avoided (unless you're Nicole Richie, of course), so why not take the time to enjoy it? I couldn't agree more, and unlike most other bodily functions, eating is one in which it is broadly acceptable to do in groups greater than one or two. And here in Triana there are lots of places to "do it". The number of bars and restaurants is simple astonishing. I don't know how they all stay in business, but that the American in me talking. Of course, they vary widely in quality, but on the whole the level of quality is remarkably high. Everyone here is a gastronomist, so expectations are exceedingly high. To survive you gotta be good, and good they are. El Gatito, a little food snob himself, is especially fond of the gambas al ajillo (garlic shrimp) at Bar Esperanza. He's been working on the recipe at home and comes pretty darn close to what we've had there. It is very simple to make, just take fresh gambas without their shells, a little salt, a couple of guindillas (small picante red peppers), olive oil and lots of chopped garlic, I mean lots. Pour the olive oil into a small earthenware dish and place it over a burner. Heat the oil, add the salt, garlic and guindillas and after a minute or so toss in the gambas, cook another minute or two and serve with a slice of french bread. El Gatito just made some tonight. Yum!

La Reina, El Gatito and I have had some terrific food here in Triana, and at other places around Spain. Our favorite places in Triana are La Blanca Paloma, La Blanca Paloma Tapas and Sol y Sombra. La Reina has mentioned these places in her blog and some of the dishes we've had there. To date the most memorable meals for me have been the lechazo asado (roasted lamb) at Resturante Mannix in Campaspero (Northern Spain) and the solomillo de ternera con hígado de pato (medallions of filet mignon in a tasty whisky sauce each topped with a slightly cooked duck liver) at our own Blanco Paloma. The latter was proceeded by a watercress salad with pears, walnuts and goat cheese with raspberry dressing that was simply amazing. But there are many others that come pretty darn close to these.

In my humble opinion, however, you cannot really appreciate Spanish cuisine until you bring it into your home and try to make it on your own (although, given the amount of time the Spanish spend in bars, I am sure some would disagree with me). Since we arrived in Sevilla in August, I've spent at least some of my time learning new things to cook. During the August inferno I focused on gazpacho as a way to cool our roasting souls (along with sangria and ice cold cerveza). When the weather turned cool, I learned to cook potaje de lentejas (lentil stew), which surprisingly has become a standard with me (I plan to cook some tomorrow). I've never been a big fan of lentils. I can tolerate lentil dishes from the middle east or India, but good as they are, they still don't float my boat. I think my aversion to lentils stems from a lentil bean burger I consumed at a vegetarian restaurant (the long defunct Garden Cafe) in Austin, Texas back in the 1970s as part of a courtship display toward a young vegetarian I was dating at the time. That burger sat in the pit of my stomach like a stone for days after. Making a fake burger is no way to treat a good bean, or a good vegetarian (or even a fake one). But potaje de lentejas is definitely not for vegetarians since it contains chorizo (sausage with Spanish paprika) and the infamous and tasty morcilla (blood sausage).

I've tried my hand at other common dishes here including the classic espinacas con garbanzos (spinach cooked with garbanzo beans, garlic, cumin and the ever-present Spanish paprika). I'm still trying to perfect this. The key is to slowly cook the living s**t out of the spinach and garbanzos so that it all melts in your mouth, which goes again my natural inclination for vegetables. I've tried my hand at conejo al pirineo (rabbit with almonds and pine nuts), suquet (Catalán fish stew), fideuá (a paella-like dish made with noodles instead of rice), among other things. The most memorable home-cooked dishes so far have been the unusual alcachofas con jamón serrano (artichokes cooked with the special and expensive Spanish cured ham) that La Reina and I cooked, the delicious calamares rellenos de jamón (squid stuffed with their own tentacles and jamón serrano-an old mafioso recipes, I guess), and the absolutely stunning pato a la sevillana (duck with green olives in a sherry sauce). I suspect the success of this dish depends on the quality of the olives. I used new green ones that were still tart and crunchy. The duck was easily the best duck I have ever had, better than Thai duck curry and better than any canard confit I've had. Eat your hearts out Frenchies! Better yet, try this Sevillana recipe. It will stir your heart.

More on Spanish food in a later post.

El Día de los Tres Reyes in Triana, Spain

Blogging friends visiting us over the holidays encouraged my spouse and I to start blogs while we are living in Spain for the year (it's been four months already). Our friends' blogs with their Spain experiences with us (and without) can be found at Middlebrow and Dr. Write. My spouse (La Reina) jumped right in (see her blog at Scorpion's Tail), but I am more hesitant for several reasons that I may address in later posts. This is my first official post.

Today (January 6) is El Día de los Tres Reyes in Spain or El Día del los Tres Magos, depending on whose talking. For you philistines out there, el Día de los Tres Reyes celebrates the arrival of the three kings in Bethlehem to celebrate the birth of baby Jesus. Obviously, that had to occur after Christmas, hence the date January 6. Here in Sevilla, Spain they take this day very seriously. More seriously than Christmas, in fact. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are rather subdued affairs, without much activity on the streets, whereas El Día de los Tres Reyes is wildly exuberant, with two celebratory processions through our barrio of Triana, one on the eve of Los Tres Reyes and one on the day itself. These processions included marching bands, groups of youngsters dress as moors and magos and floats of various sizes, shapes and themes. Themes are both sacred and secular, with children's films most popular (Finding Nemo, Lady and the Tramp, Bear Country, Harry Potter, etc.). What separated these processions from any parades and celebrations in the United States is the nearly continuous rain of caramelos (small candies) and other assorted small gifts that everyone in the procession tosses, throws and heaves at the assembled crowd. And the crowd was a huge seething mass of people lining both sides of the street all along the routes of the processions. Children, teenagers and adults elbowed and fought for advantageous positions along the route, not to see the floats and bands, but to catch and grab the most goodies. Children ran or reached in front of the wheels of tractors pulling the floats and dodged and ducked between the prancing feet of horses. They were eventually pulled back by an attentive adult when things looked life threatening rather than just injurious. The decibel level was ear splitting and the level of activity insane. Being of gentler stock than many Trianeros, my 7-year old son (El Gatito, as he is called at his colegio) and I could not compete with the pushing, shoving and reaching so we opted for picking candies up from the street and sidewalks. It turns out that this was a very effective strategy because most of the candy missed the outstretched hands and opened plastic shopping bags anyway. There was so much candy on the street and sidewalks that El Gatito even became selective about what he collected. And he collect a lot. Between the two processions he walked away with a total of 3 kilograms (6.6 pounds) of candy after 2-3 hours of work. That's 15% of his body weight in sugar. God help us!

You might think that such a hailstorm of caramelos might end in a mess on the streets, and you'd be right. There was so much candy on the pavement that the shoe bottoms of marchers in the processions were covered in a thick layer of candy and candy wrappers. The tires of float-pulling tractors had an extra inch of tread made of candy and wrappers. Who knows what the horses' hooves looked like, I forgot to look. It was impossible to walk anywhere without stepping on candy. El Gatito and I walked home as the first procession ended at 10 pm and by the time we walked the two blocks to our apartment the bottoms of our shoes were covered in crushed candy. We left our tacky shoes outside the apartment that night so the floors would not become sticky. The next morning when we left for the second procession we found the inside of our shoes filled with still more caramelos, a sign that Los Tres Reyes had been in the area. We walked to the street where the procession occurred the previous night (Pages del Corro) and found the street and sidewalks clean and no evidence of the chaos the night before. What had happened? The mystery was solved at the second procession later that morning. We watched the floats and collected more caramelos and a few small trinkets and then stayed for the last of the procession. Following directly behind the last float was a battalion of street sweepers with large brooms and candy sucking vehicles that devoured the crushed and rejected caramelas. After they passed there was little evidence that an intense hailstorm of candy ever occurred. But we have the evidence at home, 3 kilos of evidence. And the trace evidence on the bottoms of our shoes reminds us of the festivities with every sticky step.