FOOD1 October 2012, Monday.
We are on the train.
Goodbye, Barcelona. Hello, Girona.
The ride is about an hour and a half.
As we ride the rails out of Barcelona here are bits and pieces about unmentioned Barcelona adventures.
For our groceries, we have shopped mostly at the queen of Barcelona markets, La Bouqeria. There are nearer places to go, but the Boqueria teems, hums and buzzes with excitement. It has a dizzying array of fish mongers, butchers, bakers, cheese makers, produce and fruit people, spice vendors and snail experts and dining stalls operated by top restaurateurs for breakfast and lunch. It opens early at 6:30 a.m. Sundays it is closed. If you ask a vendor why, they look at you as if you are crazy. "It is the Lord's day!" Funny, because, though it is a catholic country, as a whole the population is not rabidly religious. Five or so years ago same-sex marriage was made legal here and polls recorded 60+% approval. Which is all to say, the market is closed on Sunday.
In 2007, we had the great privilege and pleasure of eating at El Bulli, the shining star of Spanish restaurants where Mr. Ferran Adria began what here is called "la revolucion". Having experienced the pinnacle of avant garde food artistry we have opted this trip to eat traditionally which means the Pimientos de Padrón (small green mostly not hot peppers), pa amb tomaquet (toast rubbed with tomato and drizzled with oil and salt), jamón de bellota (cured ham from small black acorn-fed pigs), escalivada (melange of red pepper, eggplant and onion fire roasted till they melt), esquiexada (salad of onion, tomato and fresh cod). We are eating foods that are more dependent on the excellence of the ingredients than they are on cooking skills. Speaking of simple. We went to a small old sandwich shop, Viena. Their ham sandwich found itself in The N.Y. Times. Mark Bittman declared it "the best sandwich in the world!" Flauta de Pernil is the sandwich. Take a petite baguette. Slice it lengthwise. Rub the interior with tomato. Take little-black-piggy-acorn-fed ham and tuck it into the bread. Voila! That is the greatest sandwich in the world. Before you take issue with the pronouncement, visit the Viena Café in Barcelona. Then take your disagreement, IF you disagree, to Mr. Bittman.
We have eaten at home several times. I think Wes was a Catalan chef in a previous life. He takes to their ingredients like a duck to water. Leave him in the kitchen with something as simple as a tomato, a red pepper, garlic, salt, ham, chorizo and olive oil and ten minutes later oh lá lá what a smell, what seductive flavors. Delicious is the only word. The ingredients individually are a joy. On their own they are so tasty. The spanish red bell peppers, longer and squarer than ours are sweeter with a rich flavor when cooked. The brilliant rosy red shrimp just caught in Mallorca are too beautiful to eat. But we did!
PABLO PICASSO
23 Sept 2012
There is a Picasso museum in Paris. But the one in Barcelona is probably more interesting as it is filled with his own personal collection of his hoarded childhood work much of it done before he was twenty years old. He was not native to Barcelona. His family moved there when he was a little boy, but already at ten years old, fifteen years old, he was working out the concepts, themes and shapes that would evolve into his yet to be painted masterpieces.
The museum came into existence when his childhood friend, Jaume Sabartés, used his own collection of Picassos to open the "Sabartés Collection" in Barcelona's Palau Aguilar on 9 March 1963. Then in 1970, inspired by his friend's generous gesture, Picasso donated to the museum close to one thousand works of his that had been housed in his family's Barcelona apartment. To that gift, the city of Barcelona added another medieval palace, the Palau Castellet, to double the exhibition space. And that gift inspired Picasso's widow to donate 41 more works. The museum is a labor of love, generosity and friendship.
You will not see the iconic Picasso canvases there. (For those go to Philadelphia to see the Barnes Collection.) Instead you will witness his evolution from small child to young man via drawings and paintings. And, of course, it helps if you like Picasso in the first place. And I do.
CAFE DE LES SET PORTES
Tuesday, 25 Sept 2012 and Sunday, 30 Sept 2012
Sam and Kathy Adams, about a dozen years ago, introduced us to a restaurant. Every time we visit Barcelona we eat there. It is that good. It is that interesting. And it is called, Café de les Set Portes. That is Catalan for Cafe of the Seven Doors. In 1957, Sam traveled to Europe for the first time. Rumor has it, he ran from the ship directly to the restaurant for his first meal in Europe. When Sam first set foot in the place it was already 121 years old. It has been in business since 1836. For a while it did not have a name, but because it has seven doors that face the street, people recommended it to their friends as "the place with seven doors". Paella is their specialty. We have eaten a lot of it there. As have Garcia Lorca and Maria Callas and Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Pablo Picasso and Woody Allen and Salvador Dali and on and on. They have kept records of who has dined at which table. At our table last night, Che Guevara, once sat and ate his paella like a good revolutionary.
This week we ate at Set Portes two times. Last Tuesday, Raul and Kathleen, arrived from Maryland. Before they departed on their Mediterranean jazz cruise we whisked them away for an orgy of Paella Parellada and "braço de gitano" (arm of the gypsy) and "puding". The Paella Parellada was put on the menu by it's namesake, Paco Parellada, when he took over the place in 1942. Eighty years for a dish to be on a menu is a long time. I suppose one could call it a classic. The dining room, too, is classic with a comfortable old world patina, more 19th-Century than 21st-Century. The waiters wear classic long white aprons. There is wood paneling and there are large mirrors and a floor of black and white tiles and paintings and of course lots of windows and those seven doors. And there are rooms farther away from the front door with autographs around the walls of many of the luminaries from the art world who have eaten there. And a plaque commemorating the November in 1935 when Garcia Lorca, a year before his death, first read in that room his poem, A Poet in New York. The restaurant has survived a lot of history, particularly the Spanish Civil War of Generalissimo Franco. It's tumult and tragedy. Currently, Catalunya is quite united in their local pride. The international news is full of stories about the hardships of Spain. Catalunya, Barcelona particularly, is a major component of the Spanish economy and they feel what they get back from central government in Madrid is not commensurate with what they contribute to the nation. This week the president of Catalunya made a bold move. He called for a referendum. A November election on the issue of Catalunya independence. Is it meant to declare they will leave Spain and become an independent nation? I am not sure. But politics here are very dynamic. Where was I? Dinner? Set Portes? Yes. So the restaurant is historic and eating there is in a sense participating in that history.
Later in the week, Roland arrived from Los Angeles and we went there with him, too. And we were full again. And we lingered long drinking rosé cava and eating black rice and sausage and bacalao and then dessert. Again I ordered the "puding". Sounds like pudding, but more like flan. Take a loaf pan. Put sugar in it's bottom. Add madeleines. Pour in egg custard and bake till firm. Turn out and slice. The result is like firm flan with caramelized sugar. In this instance they dotted the plate with large rosettes of unsweetened heavy whipped heavy cream. Of course, you need digestive assistance after that. So we had Etxeko's Patxarana. A digestivo made from sloe-fruit, herbs and anisette. I felt very good after that. Could it have been the 30% alcohol content? Hmm.
Marlow and Wes
1 October 2012
Adios Barcelona
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