A late lunch at Burdine’s after “parking” the boat at the “curb.”
Tag Archives: Food
Learning to cha-cha
Bar Barossa
The terrorist attacks in Paris made us want to stick pretty close to home. Our apartment is on one of the best restaurant streets in Madrid, similar to a couple of those targeted in the Paris attacks. At night and all throughout the weekend people spill out from the tiny bars and dining establishments and party in the street. From our fifth-floor apartment we look down upon a river of people.
We went out on Friday night, several hours before the Paris attacks. On Saturday, we stayed in. By Sunday we were starting to feel claustrophobic. This apartment is not big and is our least favorite of the entire trip. The grime in the corners, the chill of the marble floors, and the meager cooking equipment in the kitchen made us long for some freshly cooked food in the brilliant Spanish sunshine.
paella and vermut
Marcus had been reading an article in Saveur magazine on the sweet, red vermouth (vermut, in Spanish) that is so popular in Madrid. The magazine mentioned a little mom-and-pop place in the Mercado de San Fernando not far from our apartment. I started putting on my shoes as he told me about it. ¡Vamanos!
San Fernando is a typical fresh market prevalent in every city in Spain. Madrid has at least one in each barrio. They’re usually not open on Sundays, so I was surprised to hear music blasting out the doors and see the people milling in and out. Inside, in the center of all the closed market stalls, people were dancing to the hip-swaying Latin beat.
Some of the cafés around the periphery of the market were open, serving up tapas and beers, wine and jamón, and other Spanish delicacies. It didn’t take us long to find Bar Barossa. We even recognized Mom and Pop from the magazine photos. We ordered two vermuts and gobbled down the tapa of paella that comes free with every drink order. When we were done, we climbed up to the market’s second floor that overlooks the open, center space. On an ordinary weekday, this space would be full of tables and chairs for shoppers to rest and refresh with a beverage and a snack after a busy day of shopping, but today it was the dance floor.
It was so good to see people out and enjoying themselves. Giving in to our fears and sequestering ourselves indoors can do us more psychological harm than good. Life will go on, but you have to make that first step. One-two-three, cha-cha-cha.
Our familiar
After 75 days of packing up and moving on to unfamiliar territory, familiar feels good! Don’t get me wrong: We have loved exploring new places, and that is why we weren’t at all prepared for how good it would feel to come back to something we know.
Over two months ago we began this journey in Madrid, a city I expected we’d find too large and uninteresting. Compared to most of the cities we have stayed in, there really aren’t that many sights to see here in the capital. I thought we’d spend the first week in Madrid recuperating from jet lag and adjusting to the language difference. And after driving 4200 miles through the rest of Spain, we’d spend the last week in Madrid winding down and preparing for our flight home.
Madrid may be the largest city in Spain, but the distinct personalities of its neighborhoods, or barrios, give it such character. It is the kind of city you want to wander in. Within minutes you can stroll from the historic barrios of Palacio and Sol to the art museum promenade of Retiro, the international bohemia of Las Letras, the tapas bars of La Latina, or the chic boutiques of Chueca and Malasaña.
After ditching our luggage in the same apartment we stayed in in September—quickest check-in yet, all our host had to do was hand over the keys!—we turned in our third and final rental car and wandered back “home.” We delighted in seeing places we knew and knowing where we wanted to go. We stopped at an outdoor café on the Gran Vía (it’s still warm enough to have tables out in November!), ordered a couple of beers without having to worry if we got all the verb tenses right, munched on our daily dose of olives, and sat and watched the world go by. No car, no map, no worries. It’s good to be back!
Mercado de los Tres Culturos
el Casco Viejo (Old City) in Cáceres
We’re winding down—only four days to go on this Grand Tour of Spain—and it’s getting harder to get excited about venturing out. While I love my Roman ruins, Moorish fortresses, and medieval walled cities, how many can you continue to experience with enthusiasm after three months? We had exhausted Mérida’s offerings the day before and didn’t like the thought of staying in the apartment all day, so we went ahead with my plan to visit the ancient city of Cáceres.
These walled cities, perched high on a hill overlooking what was once their domain, are always exciting on the approach. As the car enters the Casco Viejo (Old City), the roads become increasingly steeper and narrower, the massive stone buildings grow a bit closer together, and the parking spaces are fewer and farther between. There have been many old city streets that we have declared too narrow to be navigable only to see someone’s car parked outside their home farther up the hill. How do they get them up there? Nerves of steel.
jabalí (wild boar) on toast with melted local cheese
We tried driving to the top—car in first gear, mirrors tucked in tightly, breath sucked in, and ears tuned for that dreaded scrape of metal on stone that miraculously never comes. There comes a point where we wonder if we could actually wedge the car into a space so snugly that we wouldn’t be able to get out. That’s when we lose our nerve and look for a road—any road—heading back down the hill.
Safely at the bottom, we found a parking garage in the more modern and open part of the city and set off on foot to climb the hill. We arrived out of breath in the heart of the Old City and made our way toward the Plaza Mayor. As we walked, booths popped up here and there on either side of the narrow alleyways. By the time we reached the plaza, we were in the middle of a full-blown souk, or zoco as they call them in Spain—a Middle-Eastern market. Vendors, dressed in historic garb, were selling all manner of artisanal crafts. Unbeknownst to us, this was the first day of the Mercado de los Tres Culturos, the Market of the Three Cultures—Muslim, Jewish, and Christian. Spain is very proud of their four centuries of prosperity under Muslim rule when all three cultures coexisted peacefully, and well they should be. We could use a little more of that in today’s world.
grilled meat vendor
wood carver using a manual lathe
We had so much fun shopping: saffron and smoked paprika, olive oil soaps, meats and cheeses—all handmade in Extremadura. The food booths were extraordinary—whole roasting pigs and paella pans full of rice and vegetables, local wines and even craft beer. What an absolutely lovely day we had—the kind that makes you glad you ventured out!
The Mushrooms
Metropol Parasol
What is this crazy wooden structure in the middle of Plaza de la Encarnación in Sevilla?
It’s called Metropol Parasol. I don’t understand the name, but it certainly is in keeping with the mystery of the thing. It is art with a purpose beyond esthetics. Below ground level, where you catch the elevator to the top (if it’s still open), there are some Roman and Moorish ruins. On ground level is a food market. Along the top are walkways and a restaurant from which you can admire the city. Unfortunately we arrived too late to go up.
What an unusual juxtaposition of history, art, and gastronomy.
Sevillanos called it “Las Setas,” or “The Mushrooms.” Supposedly it is the largest wooden structure in the world – so big that Marcus couldn’t capture the whole thing in one photo. I looked for a postcard in the gift shop that would show it in its entirety, but they couldn’t do it either. Perhaps that’s what the architect intended – by removing the possibility of the big picture, he forces the viewer to be part of the work. As someone who feels more comfortable knowing where the borders are, I kind of liked getting lost inside for a change.
Cruisin’ in Santa Cruz
Leida’s courtyard
We were walking through the Judería, a warren of narrow alleyways that made up the ancient Jewish Quarter in Sevilla in the centuries before the Inquisition. Not surprisingly, it’s located in the oldest neighborhood of Sevilla, the Barrio de Santa Cruz. We were quietly talking as we walked, just minding our own business, when a young woman passed us, turned and looked at us, and asked “Where are you from?” We could tell by her accent that she was Spanish, yet her English was perfect.
Surprised, I replied, “Los Estados Unidos (the United States).”
“Would you like to see a typical Sevillano home? I live just up the street. It’s quite beautiful.”
Marcus and I looked at each other and replied in unison. “Yes, that would be very nice.”
She continued walking, and we hurried to keep up. About 30 feet ahead, she stopped in front of a large wooden door in a stucco wall, inserted a key, and stepped through the doorway. We followed. We were standing in a covered entryway. In front of us was an iron grillwork gate. Beyond it, a mass of vegetation. She unlocked the gate and motioned us inside. The courtyard was full of flowering plants and fruit trees – oranges, grapefruit, figs…so many that it was difficult to see to the far end. In the center was a trickling fountain surrounded by white metal benches. Very Moorish; the Moors loved fountains, not only for their cooling effect on scorching summer days, but also for the calming visual and aural aspects.
She paused. “My name is Leida,” she said.
“Cindy.” “Marcus.” We extended our hands, and then continued to admire the garden around us.
In true Andalucían style there were several residences facing inward toward the courtyard. Three floors on the left; three floors on the right. We asked Leida if all the residences were occupied by her family. “No. Three different families live on the left side of the courtyard, one on each floor. And three families live on the right side. My family lives on the second floor on the right side.”
“Has your family lived here for many years?” I asked.
“Yes, so many years that I don’t remember how long.” She smiled. “But come with me. There’s something I want to show you.” She led us through the courtyard. On the back wall was something completely unexpected – an old arched niche flanked by peeling murals. “It was part of a house built for one of the queens,” she explained. I could believe this. This old residence was practically next door to the Alcázar, the ancient royal palace.
built for a queen
Marcus asked Leida what she did for a living. “I’m a lawyer,” she answered. Only 24 years old and most likely freshly out of law school, she is an intern in the field of criminal law. We thanked her profusely for sharing her family’s treasure with us. She saw us back out to the street, said goodbye, and disappeared back into her private oasis. All told: 20 minutes.
Marcus and I looked at each other. Until that moment, we hadn’t had a chance to talk about this unexpected opportunity; it had all happened so quickly. We both laughed. Words failed me. “Well, that was interesting!” was all I could manage, and we continued on our way.
I wonder what the rest of the day holds for us.
Memories are made of this
We were enjoying ourselves so much at lunch, we forgot to take a photo of Mouche and Christian, but here is a photo of Mouche’s niece in Andalucían dress with Pela, the free-range neighborhood horse.
While I welcomed an excuse to stay home after a harrowing drive up the mountainside in the pitch-black the night before (In the dark), I also looked at a day off from sightseeing as an opportunity to invite our hosts at Finca Mosca down to our (their) cottage for a glass of wine. But if we were going to be home the entire day and we had groceries to use before we packed everything up and moved on, why not invite them to lunch?
We liked Mouche and Christian immediately when they welcomed us to Finca Mosca. Unlike many of our hosts who are invisible during our stays in their apartments, they were eager to engage with their guests. They seemed genuinely interested in the social benefits of renting out their cottage, not just the financial gain. They bought the property sixteen years ago, living on it part-time in the beginning. They worked diligently, when they could get away from work and other obligations in Belgium, hauling materials up the mountainside to remodel the cottage. They have lived on the property full-time now for two years. They possess that magical combination of being both industrious, but also laid-back. Most importantly, they understand how to enjoy life. I marvel at the way they embrace living in a foreign country: learning the language, taking advantage of the bounty of their natural surroundings, and accepting their neighbors as their new family.
Lunch was nothing fancy; we used what we had on hand. It was a bit too cool to sit on the terrace, so Mouche and Christian brought two more stools down from their house and nestled in with us at the kitchen counter. They brought a delicious French rosé, a nice Spanish red, and some beer, and we talked through the afternoon.
This, my friends, is what this trip is all about. It’s not about the sights, the weather, the food, or the exchange rate – although all of those things may add to our adventure. We travel to interact with people – people who live outside our little box and who add so much to our lives with their perspectives. We get no greater satisfaction than spending an afternoon like this.
When we lived in Germany, we loved the concept of die erfahrung as it applies to travel. Literally the words mean “the experience,” but the concept goes deeper than that. Travel is not about how many sights on your itinerary you accomplish; it’s about what you experience while accomplishing them. Some people never learn the distinction; we feel fortunate that we did. It keeps the compass spinning.
¡Qué lástima!
Chestnuts on the ground: ¡Qué lástima!
Marcus was researching something about fallen fruit online (I know! Where does he come up with these things?), and he asked me what ¡Qué lástima! means. “It means ‘What a shame!'” I said. “Why? How did you come across it?”
“In Spain, that’s what they call fruit or nuts that have fallen off the tree,” he explained. “According to what I’m reading, what’s fallen on the ground is free for the taking.”
I love this clever name for fallen fruit. I can just imagine someone happening upon a windfall under an apple tree, filling a bag with the proceeds, and serving up a delicious pie to her family later that evening. As each family member receives a piece, fragrant with cinnamon, I’m sure they shake their heads mournfully and say ¡Qué lástima!
Finca Mosca
view of the Mediterranean from Casa Emilio
Every accommodation we have stayed in in Spain has been an apartment in a city, until now. Last spring, when I was booking apartments, I was looking for something near the Costa del Sol, but not on it. I didn’t want to stay in a high-rise condo with a bunch of ex-pats. I’m always surprised that so many ex-pats, people who choose to live in a foreign country, make such an effort to re-create their own country within their adopted home. If they want to eat foods and shop for groceries from home, why don’t they just stay home? To shy away from the foreignness of a culture defeats the purpose of living there, in my opinion.
So I was searching for something a bit inland from the coast when Casa Emilio popped up on Airbnb. (You have to love a cottage with a name!) I took one look at the photos of the tiled terrace overlooking the Mediterranean Sea from a hillside of the Sierra Bermeja mountains and I was smitten. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since.
the casita (little house)
Casa Emilio is a guest house on Finca Mosca, property owned by a wonderful couple from Belgium who moved to Spain part-time sixteen years ago. They are now full-time. Her nickname is Mouche, which means “fly” in French, so they named their property Finca Mosca; mosca means “fly” in Spanish.
persimmons, figs, and olives
When I was taking Spanish in school many years ago, my teacher, La Señora Jones, loved to play jokes on us. We had been practicing a dialog about ordering food in a restaurant for what seemed like months – until we knew it forwards and backwards. One of the objectives of the dialog was to teach the verb gustarse, a very important verb in Spanish. They have no verb meaning “to like;” they use gustarse, which translates literally to “to be pleased.” So instead of saying “I would like the chicken with rice,” one would say “The chicken and rice would please me.” It’s a difficult concept for beginning Spanish students, so Señora Jones drilled us.
Sra. Jones: ¿Te gustan albóndigas? Literally: Do meatballs please you? In other words, Do you like meatballs?
Student: ¡Si, me gustan albóndigas! Literally: Yes, meatballs please me!; or Yes, I like meatballs!
Sra. Jones: ¿Te gustan papas fritas? Do you like fried potatoes?
Student: ¡Si, me gustan papas fritas! Yes, I like fried potatoes!
Sra. Jones: ¿Te gustan moscas fritas? Do you like fried ???
Silence.
Student, thinking frantically: [This word moscas was not in the dialog. What the hell is a mosca? Well, I like everything fried.] ¡Si, me gustan moscas fritas! Yes, I like fried [whatever]!
Sra. Jones: ¿¿¿Te gustan moscas fritas??? ¡Jajajaja! You like fried flies??? Hahahaha!
a cork oak is stripped of its bark every 7 years
Ha, ha, indeed! My first introduction to the Spanish word mosca and I haven’t forgotten it 45 years later, when most of the useful vocabulary I learned has gone out the window. La Señora Jones was a wonderful teacher; we loved her class.
So here we are at the incredible Finca Mosca. Besides the fabulous view, there is an abundance of flora and fauna: fig trees (Mouche gave us fig jam!); lemons the size of softballs; orange, grapefruit, and persimmon (caqui) trees; olive, chestnut, and avocado trees; cork oaks; goats; chickens; horses; dogs; cats (Mouche and Christian have fourteen!); wild pigs; snakes; snails; slugs; and an assortment of insects that don’t deserve mention – and yes, moscas too!
Pela, a free-range horse
Daily dose of olives
Love these things!