I have stayed true to my vow to attend the Mercat Central weekly. On this trip I purchased a little goat cheese, a bottle of wine, a kilo of cherries and discovered that prices for fruit are advertised by the ¼ kilo and not a whole kilo; unfortunately my Spanish isn’t polished enough to inform the fruit vendor I am trying to befriend that I did not want to spend 10 euros on cherries.I am determined to discover what is typical Spanish cuisine. These market trips will help with the prepared foods, cheese and fruits but I will also need to dine out. I have made a list of fifteen restaurants and cafes I will eat at over the next few weeks, but until then I decided to taste what was readily available—pastries. 
After pushing past the horde of old women buying plump octopus and slithering eels, I made my way to the instantly edible section of the market and deftly purchased eight miniature empanadillas. If you’ve never heard the name, you’ve probably had these goodies in some form. They are little pouches of dough, filled with savory, sweet or a combination of the two and fried or baked. I decided to purchase 2 chocolate, 2 sweet potato, 2 onion and 2 unidentifiable types the nice lady recommended/pushed onto me. 
My original intent was to sample one of each, record the distinct flavors and textures of each, and save the rest for additional testing later on. Everything started out fine. I lined them up on my desk, photographed them for visual reference, observed their subtle differences and cleansed my palate between each different bite.…Twenty minutes later I devoured every last crumb and ate half of my overpriced—but thoroughly delicious—cherries. More funds will have to be funneled into this project. Despite my minor setback and sumptuous bellyache, I will carry on.
Many times in the past I’ve chatted with friends about the typical American food. This conversion usually took place over a bowl of Pad Thai, miso soup or a plate of lamb vindaloo. After going to Rome a couple of years ago and trying such delights as carbonara, a’matriciana and assortments of unrecognizable meats and cheeses, I realized that what we may think as the typical cuisine of another country is completely wrong.
Before going to Italy myself, my idea of a typical Italian meal was a giant plate of limp, squishy spaghetti, smothered with red sauce and accompanied by a meaty hunk of chicken parmigiano. Big mistake. Fortunately, I learned quickly that there are countless varieties of food native to a country’s gastronomic heritage that never makes it to the States. Even better, I discovered that a lot of our culinary stereotypes are just that: stereotypes. Like a caricature, the dishes will have aspects of authenticity to them, but are blown out of proportion and exaggerated. While I’m not saying that this is wrong—I’ve had many delicious encounters with Chicken parmigiano--I do believe that it is beneficial to understand the differences. Besides, is there ever a problem with trying new food?
After doing a little research into the dilemma of authenticity I discovered that most of what we think is the quintessential food of another country is really just the cheapest, i.e. peasant food. After hearing that a person could eat for a week in Thailand for the price of a large pizza in the states, I did some reading and found that a full Pad Thai dinner from a street cart in Bangkok tallies up to less than one American dollar. If you happen to live in England where the Sterling Pound is an economic behemoth right now, you could eat like a Thai king all day.
Think about it: rice and beans, tacos (which traditionally were made with tongue, the “throw away” meat), Beouf Bourignon (beef stew made with tough, inexpensive cuts and one of France’s most readily available ingredients—wine), Kapusta (better known as sauerkraut) and pizza (no explanation needed). All of these dishes scream their heritage yet all are easy and cheap to make. Just because Italians eat lots of pizza or the polish eat lots of sauerkraut doesn’t mean that those countries are filled with only those foods.
Ask any student who has traveled abroad what they want to eat and they will all say the same thing—whatever is native to that country. While this makes sense it isn’t as easy as it sounds. How often do we eat “American food” while we are in the states? When every street has a pizza parlor, a sushi joint and a kebab house, what is “authentic” becomes difficult to answer.
So what will I do about this nagging question? Since I’ll be in Spain for almost half a year, I decided I’d have more than enough time to “research” the facts. I started last week at the Mercat Central and I plan on keeping up my rigorous study. In addition, my living arrangements allow me fly-on-the-wall access to a common Spanish diet, so I will make sure to take full advantage of my situation.
To start things off, I present this photo of my lunch the other. A simple bean soup with Chorizo and what I found out was pure pig fat, accompanied by a plate of ham, sausage and cheese and a glass of wine.
I have lots of research to do.
Spain is frustrating. Although I can understand the language (un poco) I can’t speak a lick! It is getting better, though. For example, today I was able to communicate quite a bit with my seniora. Her name is Reyes and she now knows that I love cheese and Iberico jamon. I feel that these are great facts to communicate to her.
Besides my love affair with jamon, the food my familia cooks for me is awesome. There are lots of similarities to American food—meat, potatoes, fried things—but the flavors are very different. I will post some pictures of the homemade grub soon, but first I want to be able to explain to my foreign family exactly why I am photographing their food. It’s bad enough I stare at them blankly half the time, I’m sure me doing a photo shoot at the dinner table would make things even stranger.
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So the big meal today consisted of jamon, chorizo, ensalade, some brie and these little things filled with pork and covered with cheese—way to go my family! After the meal some very important events went down:
1) I found out today that after a bullfight, they take the bull out back, chop him up and to tiny pieces and sell the once mighty beast to restaurants. While that may seem horrible to some, it’s great news for me. As an added plus, Reyes (my host mother, and a darling at that) told me that I could find torro carne at many establishments in the area. Just to top off the situation, I hear the tastiest part are the pelotas, you know, bull balls.
2) Horchata and Fartons. Miguel, my Valencia travel guide introduced me to Spanish style Horchata. He was appalled when I told him the version I had in America was made with rice, almonds and cream. In Spain, it is made with these ground up berry/grain things I must look into, sugar and water. The horchata here was served in a Horchataria with two sugar-coated fartons. I’d have a picture of the fartons, but I ate them before I realized I needed to photograph them. Dip those suckers into the horchata and revel in the flavor.
3) I found a euro store—think dollar store—that had all these great pastries and wine. Finally, I could try some real Spanish delights! I bought home a box of Huesos de Santa because they had a great picture of a bearded man cracking almonds on the box and came home to learn about my new purchase. I also translate the names of these little goods I find in Spain so I can learn about them and it turns out that these are the Bones of the Saint. My family assured me it was only a name and told me that these goodies were popular at Christmas time. Although, it’s no longer Christmas and little Christmas has recently passed, I shall take my first bite into this treat…
excuse me one moment…
…
Tasty, tasty, tasty! They are like the marzipan I sampled in Toledo. Apparently Toledo is famous for it’s Marzipan (see the church they made out of it) and after trying it I was afraid never to sample its delightful flavor again.
4. I ate my first Valencia orange.
Another point for Spain.
It’s one o’clock in the morning and I am sitting in a hostel in the heart of Madrid. Actually, I am sitting in the hallway outside of my hostel room because my three roommates are sleeping and I didn’t want to wake them with my frantic typing. I am excited. I am very excited. After a long and overly delayed flight, I finally made it to Spain and have been shown around the city with my group of students. Although this sightseeing sounds great—don’t get me wrong, because it was fantastic—my real excitement is due to a large amount of Iberico Jamon sitting in my belly right now. Iberico Jamon is a Spanish specialty. It is cured for several years and is made from black footed Spanish pigs who feed on nothing but acorns. Apparently, this ham was never admitted into the US until recently, I think only a couple of months ago. Unfortunately, the only places to get this ham are in Manhattan, Brooklyn and I think D.C. or Philadelphia but they sell it for about $80-90 a pound. Fortunately for me I will stuff my face before heading back to the States. 
Twice I have been to Museo de Jamon. The first time was a light snack; the second time it was midnight bliss. After having a traditional Spanish meal of paella and a fish dish (I think Hake) with the other students, I ended up at the Museo with a buddy to chomp down some bread, chorizo and a plate of Jamon. Uhhhhhhhhhhhh (That’s the sound of a food coma coming one). I must say that I’ve never stood at a packed bar at 12:45 in the morning where everyone was feasting on plates of Jamon. Two beers, and a plate of ham the likes of which I have never tasted before was all it took to fall in love. Think prosciutto, but thicker, more easily bitten into and with a uniform fattiness to it. It’s kind of like biting into a delicious cloud…if that cloud was made in heaven. I can sense there will be much more to come from Spain. Already this country has won me over with their ham, who knows what other delights await. 
hmm...
Plane food makes me cringe. While I used to just bring a lunch aboard, strict and annoying regulations no longer allow me to enjoy eating 10,000 miles above the earth’s surface. Long trips are even worse—they call for multiple meals I am forced to shove down by order of my growling stomach.
Although the trip to Spain wasn’t terribly long, six hours in a plane was still a torture test. The cramped seats and stale air only contribute to my agitation. While thoughts of jamon, paella, and the delicious sea creatures that awaited me in Spain eased my troubled mind, they didn’t help my hungry stomach. When my small rectangular box of gruel finally arrived, I hungrily scarfed it down. I don’t know if it was my extreme hunger or the delusional effects of air travel, but the air bus chomps didn’t seem too horrible. Good thing Iberian Air includes a tasty morsel of Cabot cheese. Smart people despite the eh food.
Fortunately, real flavors are coming soon to assuage my taste buds. Better loosen my belt a bit.
Before heading to Spain I decided to treat Jackie and myself to one of the tastiest dishes I’ve ever had—gnuddi at the Spotted Pig in Manhattan.
I have qualms about the ole’ oinkers: The food portions are small, they are super pricey and drinks are even worse. The first time I ate there I felt that the meal started off great with the appetizers, but they were out of cask ale and everything went downhill after that (Jac had a delicious burger, but Roquerfort cheese is pretty over powering. I had calf liver with pancetta, pretty good, but nothing compared to the appetizers). Despite these drawbacks, the gnuddi made me determined to come back.
Basically, gnuddi is a ravioli or gnocci without the pasta. It is cheese rolled in semolina and cooked. The pig serves it up with brown butter, a velvety cheese sauce and topped off with crispy little sage leaves. Sound delicious? I think so, which is exactly why I came back. Unfortunately, an Italian truck driver strike prevented the Pig from receiving the ricotta cheese for the dish and I wasn’t able to gobble up these little pillows of gastronomic wonder. Undeterred, we sat down for lunch and discovered the beauty of Michelin star restaurants.
Roasted almonds. Small, filling and with just the right touch of chili.
Apple, cheddar and walnut salad. Simple and delightful. Mixed with parsley and olive oil. Haddock and bacon chowder. Oh goodness…
Fries. Oh the glorious pile of fries.
Now, I usually don’t eat fries, but something about these potatoes make me want two orders. They are piled high and mixed with fried garlic and rosemary. I don’t know why I’ve never had it before, but garlic fried up like a potato chip is one of the tasty foods I’ve tasted. Simplicity at its best.
L'ECOLE and me
a mouth watering match made in heaven Today Jackie treated me to a Christmas gift dinner at L'Ecole in Manhattan. I feel that I should relay my meal here because it was very tasty. I'm pretty sure the name means "the school" (if you speak French, help me out) and it is the restaurant run by The French Culinary Institute. Our meal was cooked by graduates of the school and the waiter, a current student, gave me the lowdown about FCI--I want in.
Basically, L'Ecole has a few alternating prix fixe menus. Students cook some, graduates cook others. If you dine there, everyone you speak with is a student. While this may sound alarming--especially if you think of the asshole who sits/sat in the back of your lecture hall, obnoxiously talking to his bro about the sorority girl he slept with last night--it is actually great. The servers are basically getting a grade on how happy the customers are with service...they need your satisfaction! That being said, everyone was exceptionally nice and the food...oh, how delicious it was!
*Be warned, I am no critic. I like to eat and usually try to chomp at recommended places so I'll rarely complain about food. Also, chances are I'll clean the plate, so if the food isn't fantastic, you probably won't believe me.*
We started off with a bottle of a Spanish style of white I've never tasted before (Verdejo) and seared beef carpaccio. It was stick to the fork thin, spread out over the plate and garnished with sea salt and a tasty, cheddar like cheese called Tête De Moine. Our second appetizer was a smoked salmon, bunched up like a little pink tube of goodness, filled with a pear salad and sitting atop one beauty of a potato pancake.
Entrees consisted of several more delicious animals: Sea Bass with Shrimp in a Saffron Mussel Broth (oh goodness!) and Roasted Duck with Potato terrine, Bok Choy and a sweet and sour black pepper sauce (sweet Jesus!). Needless to say, both were delicious. The dishes were unfussy and really let the flavor shine through. The presentations were simple but rather lovely to look at--so lovely, in fact, that I took pictures so I could look at it over and over again. (Sorry about the contrast, I didn't want to use the flash and disturbed people...fortunately, by the time desserts came out I had more to drink and didn't care anymore)
Since L'Ecole is French, and the French love to cleanse their palates, we received a sorbet of pear and champagne...From this point on I will no longer eat meals without a palate cleanser
We killed the wine just before dessert so I had to get a glass of port. To accompany this lovely glass of liquid sweetness, we ordered pear and cranberry cobbler served with honey vanilla ice cream and a Date and pine nut pudding served with caramel ice cream. What more of a description is needed than that?
At the end of dinner I realized we'd been sitting at the table for over two hours but couldn't care less. Everything was timed fantastically and I was full, tipsy and very, very happy. The entire experience was great and I'd love to go back for some more samplings of my future life. I'll be sure to let everyone know when it's me slaving away in the kitchen of L'Ecole, but until just stare at the above cobbler picture..
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...
...mmm
