I just spent a week in Morocco. I haggled and bought crap in the Marrakesh market, I slept in the Sahara desert and I ate figs and dates from a man on the street who spoke only Arabic. A lot of the food was so-so, there were gypsies everywhere and I didn't have the chance to eat an entire goat. Fortunately, I have hope for next time...whenever that may be. Chomp stories will be up soon; I have quite a few pictures to look through first.
I am going to Morocco tomorrow! It’s crazy to think that I’ll be stepping foot in Africa within 24 hours. I’ll be gallivanting through the Marrakech market, Casablanca, Fez and a bunch of other places I’ve never heard of. Ever since I read about Anthony Bourdain’s trip to the desert in Cook’s Tale I’ve been dying to eat an entire goat, roasted underground in the middle of the Sahara. Unfortunately, I’ve been warned that eating at places apart from our assigned destinations (hotels, restaurants etc) could be extremely dangerous to my health and comfort. Our guide even told us that although the fruit and vegetable stands look amazing, he severely recommends not eating them. I have a feeling I’ll be able to contain myself with all the delicious dates, figs and exotic fruits and veggies. However, once I see the whole roasted goat stand in the market, I’d happily trade my stomach’s comfort for a tasty chomp. This trip may not end well.
The other day I participated in a Paella contest. Miguel, the events coordinator for my school, is a good friend with one of the fallas in Valencia—the group of folks who run the festivities in their barrio—so every year he lets the students participate in the festivities. Think of a block party where everyone starts a little campfire in the street and cooks a giant pan of delicious paella—there was even a beer truck!Since my friends here know I like to cook, I was in charge of cooking our Paella. There are a few vegetarians so we decided to skip the mainstream Paella Valenciano and cook a Paella Verduras—a delicious mess of four types of beans, artichokes, tomatoes and rice. The traditional Paella Valenciano contains artichokes, garrafone (a large Spanish bean), tomatoes, rabbit, chicken, snails and saffron for coloring and salt—that is it. Some folks toss in a bit of pepper or chile and it is considered okay. Me wanting authenticity, I tried to stick to the traditional recipe. However, everyone I spoke to before buying the ingredients neglected to tell me that additional seasoning is acceptable when making the vegetarian version due to the lack of delicious animal fat. The result? Bland and boring.Despite my failure, the dish wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t anything close to delicious, but it has potential. Even so, after all the beer I drank while the rice simmered, the semi-decent paella was a welcome addition to my stomach. I plan on brining a paellera home to I can cook up the stuff in my backyard for 4th of July and other BBQ-ing holidays. My host mother Reyes said she’d get me one as a gift. I hope I’ll be getting a personal Paella cooking lesson as well. 
It’s been some time since I last wrote, almost two weeks. In that time, I’ve done some traveling, eating and grew a mustache. All of these I think are fantastic, and I have pictures to prove it.The food in Portugal is amazing; there aren’t any crazy ingredients or unimaginable cooking techniques, only simple, delicious and well-executed food (not to mention endless varieties of delicious Porto wine—I had more than my fill). Being on the coast, Portugal has a huge fishing industry.
Salt-crusted old men like these fish the ocean for delicious creatures to put on my plate every night.
Bacalao is a salted codfish, usually served fried in olive oil. It’s like a salty piece of heaven for your belly.
There is a type of pastry well known throughout Portugal. It looks like a small, flaky muffin with a custardy inside. Every shop has a different name for it, but this one came from a shop that’s been making it since the late 1830’s.
Even the buskers in Portugal are awesome. Here is a little homeless melodica action. It has nothing to do with food but I enjoyed his tunes while enjoying a beer in the streets of Lisboa.
Among other things I went to see the corrida de toros. It’s a little strange at first, and many people don’t like seeing 6 bulls get killed before their eyes, but it is Spanish tradition. Also, it is pretty interesting to watch. The arenas, or Plaza de la Toros, are usually filled with old men, but there is a good mix of Spanish folks who enjoy the sport/spectacle/whatever it is. What I found most interesting is that after the bull is killed, they drag him in the back and butcher him up for restaurants.It takes the butchers 14 minutes and 30 seconds to get the bull from this…
(A few minutes before the final blow)
…to this.Afterwards I ate Ravos de Toro with some friends. It is literally the tail of the beast. It’s tasty, but I found out after that it cost 75 euros for three plates--that comes out to about $20-25 per person! I refused to take a picture out of anger. However, after complaining to the head of the bar I was offered ravos free! Ole!Finally, we all know that food, traveling, and bull fights are all better when enjoyed with a mustache. 
At first I was devastated. When I came home from class for the big meal of the day—comida—I was greeted by a large pot of eels. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted a large, steamy pot of eels, but I also wanted to help make it. Unfortunately, my senora’s daughter swung by the house, saw the goodies in the fridge and made up the all I pebre all by herself. I was distraught.I was upset.I wanted to cook too!As I silently cried to myself I was handed a large bowl of the stuff. Invisible tears rolled down my cheek as I air-planed a small chunk of stewed eel into towards mouth. The little guy was alive only hours ago, bravely wiggling around in the fridge after having his head separated from his body. He was waiting for me! All morning I envisioned my senora and me, dancing around the kitchen stewing eels, talking Spanish and sharing our excitement about the delicious meal we would soon share. We would lovingly cook our eels while singing songs of homage and bonding over a simmering stovetop. It didn’t happen like this; I was crushed. I kept on reflecting on my broken dreams when I realized there was an eel bone lodged between my teeth.!Joder!Eel is one of the smoothest sea creatures I have ever eaten. It has the consistency of other fish, only with much more meat. The flavor was rich but doesn’t have that overpowering seafood feel (fresh water creatures know where it’s at.) The mighty eel was the perfect complement for the potatoes, onions and tomatoes sharing the spoon and I look forward to meeting him again. After a few more bites I stopped sulking and quickly finished off my pebre. It was delicious and although I didn’t get to help cook it, there are more eels in Valencia waiting for me. 
It’s 9:48am and I have just returned home with this bag. Its contents? Eels.Tonight I am making all I pebre, a traditional eels stew with my senora. I plan on documenting the whole things but having eels in the house made me too excited to wait until later. I have no idea how to make it, but I do know that I was informed to go to the market and purchase 2 kilos of potatos, 2 cebollas and 3 anguillas. This will probably be my favorite task today.I was going to photograph the woman (eelmonger?) preparing my critters but I figured it’d be better to leave those pictures off of the blog. Basically, after ordering the woman fished three eels out of her tank, plopped them into a large, rectangular stainless steel box located next to a cutting board, knife and steel glove. Three minutes later, I am presented with the bundle of excitement you see above.On the way home I had to stop several times on the walk home because I thought they were still moving. Fresh.
Seville is known to most as a lovely, old town in the southern Spanish communidad of Andalusia. It is a city famous for it cathedral—which is the third largest in the world—as well as its flamenco, bull fighting and most importantly, its tapas.
Like most cities in Spain with strong ties to bull fighting, there are lots of bulls to be eaten. Since Spaniards don’t want these animals to go to waste after being killed during the fight, the most sensible thing to do is feed them to the people! I hear that back in the day, there were butchers at the back door of the Plaza de los Torros, waiting for the carcasses. I’m not sure how it works today, but I know Spaniards still eat bull.
About a month ago I discovered that certain people believe the tastiest part of the animal is los testiculos. I am still searching for a menu with Cojones on it, but I feel that I came one step closer in Seville. The restaurant I ate at was a classic Seville tapas joint: long bar adorned with various cheeses and meats, racks of wine behind it and a few employees furiously cooking away. After spoke to the bar man with the help of Miguel—the guide for my group—I learned the restaurant had no balls. However, the man could offer me colas del torro. Excitedly I ordered and fifteen minutes later was treated to a bully delight.
(I would love to post a picture of my colas, but stupidly I left my camera in the hostel before going out. I borrowed a camera from a friend of mine, so hopefully I’ll have some proof of my first bull experience. In the meantime, here is an artists rendition.)
All I can say is that colas are the bull version of oxtail; it is the tough cut of meat connected to the muscular tail. It’s braised or stewed until it reaches a delicious brisket like consistency, served with a side of potatoes and quickly inhaled by me. The bones look like chunky white stars and they force a hungry traveler to meticulously chomp the meat from between narrow crevices. I can assure you that it is worth the effort.
Although I have yet to sample bull pelotas yet, my first taste of bull was quite good. It gave me the strength I need to keep the search on, knowing that if the ass end of the animal is this delicious, I can only imagine what other wonders await me. Besides hope, the only other thing I can offer is a delicious look tapa I ate the following day—bread and some of the famous iberico jamon topped with a luscious looking quail egg.
Ole.
