Posts Tagged ‘food’

Although it’s the end of October, the weather’s still pretty warm (24C today, which is midsummer temperatures…) and we took advantage of it to head up to the Naranco, the hill that overlooks the city. We were going to pick some chestnuts…

The paths were covered in dry crunchy leaves (but no frost) and the spiky chestnut coats (sweet chestnuts are a whole lot spikier than the horsey variety). In short order we had four or five kilos, and Julio was telling us we should be boiling them and then eating them with milk and sugar. Which we will, although some will definitely be roasted.

This has been a bumper year, we scrumped a few apples and figs as we walked enjoying the last of the indian summer. Tomorrow the rain arrives from Galicia, and on Monday, they say it’ll be ten degrees colder, then on Tuesday, snow down to 13oom. Maybe on Wednesday it’ll be spring.

Julio, being keen, suggested another walk (truth be told, we were on a walk with the group when he presented us with a list of three options) for the long weekend (last Monday was a national holiday, El día de la hispanidad – the day of spanishitude).

We picked a short walk up a hill next to Covadonga, mainly to avoid having to get up too early. As we drove over there, looking at the mist, the low cloud and the drizzle suggested we might not have the best of weather.

Not a bit of it. Blazing sun, really rather hot… especially as we went down from the peak. Autumn has only just started here (it’s only in the last couple of days it’s been below 10C at night) and the trees were still pretty green. We did, however, have rather a lot of bounty to pick off the trees as we went. The cold winter last year seems to have been good for the figs, the pears, apples and the chestnuts.

The trees were groaning under the weight.

So we munched as we walked, then at the summit we looked down on the massive (for Asturias) traffic jam heading up to Covadonga, while munching some more. As we walked, we picked up chestnuts.

Julio likes a bit of ‘salt’ on his walks, and this time it was a new path (with a damn great sign saying ‘closed for building work’) that led to a dead end and a steep scree slope down to the road.

Still, at the end we had a couple of kilos of chestnuts and it was topped off with a stop at the Cheese of Eastern Asturias show in Cangas d’Onis and came home with more food than we started with.

Queimada Flames 5 Originally uploaded by hegarty_david.

So there we were, in the Atapuerca hotel (described accurately as ‘for truck drivers’) an isolated place with a couple of villages close by, but too far to walk to after a long day outside.

After dinner Ignacio said we’d be having the Queimada. Then, seeing the blank looks on our faces they proceeded to explain.

You take a litre or two of orujo (preferably home made, with a high alcohol content), chop orange peel, apples, lemon peel and add them and coffee beans, and a ton of sugar. All this goes into a ceramic cauldron.

Then you light the thing and stir it with a ladle (hopefully not made of wood). When the flames go completely blue, you put them out and serve it.

It’s warm, sweet and quite strong (even after the burning off process).

While it’s being burned you’re meant to recite a conjuro (a spell) which is a call to the earth, wind, sea and fire to purify the drink and share it with souls of absent family and friends. So of course we did this, fifty or so people, much to the amusement of the few additional guests in the bar.

Yes, all this was done in the hotel bar. A health and safety nightmare!

A light bite Originally uploaded by itsjustanalias.

We went out for a curry last night with Covadonga, after she had told us of the existence of a curry house in the city, run by Pakistanis. It compared very favourably to UK curry houses, although chapatis didn’t appear on the menu. When I asked if they did them they chap said yes and so they appeared.

Cova, like me and Liz, likes food and she told us that her dad often brings home sea urchins. This afternoon we got a message, she wanted to know if we were in so she could bring some round. Some! There was a bag full. You have to open them by inserting two forks, using them like reverse pliers. The shells crack open, spines pinging off to far corners of the room, and inside is the lovely… stuff. Let’s be honest, there’s orangey bits and brown bits and other bits… I’ve no idea what each bit is but I do like how they taste.

I usually take a little hip flask of whisky on the walks, just for a drop at the summit and to share it around, for most of the group have only tried Johhny Walker or (shudder) Hundred Pipers (or even DYC: Spain’s very own whisky, only to be drunk when drunk, and even then, only with coke or something to cover the taste). Andrés brings Orujo or other home made spirits, or home flavoured. These are usually sweet, but pleasant enough. He also bakes and cooks and brings along tortillas and tarts and cakes. You can’t refuse either, well, we can’t anyway.

A couple of others carry wine skins. Bernardo (the chap in his eighties) was scoffing at the amount the youngsters (Paco, in his mid fifties) carry. He pointed to his very small knapsack (the kind of cloth and leather, buckled job that was probably all the rage in the forties) and said he had his jacket, his hat, his umbrella and in his bag just a half litre of wine and some cheese, meat and bread and his knife and that was it. No water…

So we’ve had to try the skins, they keep the wine cool, but there’s a knack to it. We were told, you have to hold it like a woman, soft around the neck and squeeze the bottom hard (followed by quick ‘it’s a joke, it’s a joke’ comments, in case we hadn’t got that they weren’t being serious).

Of course we had faces full of wine in no time.

Day 23 (11.06.08): Al Mercado del Fontan Originally uploaded by ladykat.

Liz, being healthy and wise in these matters, buys a lot of fruit and veg. And, wanting to support the local economy, often buys them from the old girls outside the market on a Thursday or Saturday. A few weeks ago, as she was leaving, laden with kale, cabbage, potatoes and leeks, the lady she was buying from popped an egg in her pocket with a sort of knowing wink.

I think this was a code and we’ve now cracked it. The selling of eggs by these ladies is very furtively done. They keep them out of sight and they look around before actually getting them out. We think it’s not really allowed, maybe they’re only allowed to sell veg, and not even the broadest definition of the local law (unlike, for example, my definition of fruit to include cheese – fruit of the cow) let’s them do it openly, so they just ignore the rules and get on with it.

Yesterday Liz bought some eggs from one lady and later, as we were leaving, another quietly said ‘¿Quieres huevos?’

Cova had recommended a restaurant, they do four things there, she had said, and it’s not very posh. Our sort of place, it seemed.

It was called La Taberna Gallega (The Galician Tavern) and they did more than four things (but not by much). We went with Maria Jesus and Covadonga, who pointed out that the place was so basic that they didn’t even put tablecloths out (not even the paper ones).

The four things they do are Pulpo (octopus), Calamares (Squid), Vino de ribeira (Galician white wine) and bread. Cova suggested that we ordered pulpo without potatoes, because you get more pulpo. It came on the wooden platters we’ve seen before, sprinkled with paprika. A slice of bread (the size and shape of a quarter of a panetone) came along with it. The wine was served in a white ceramic jar and we had ceramic cups for the wine that reminded me of delicate japanese tea cups (so no handles).

The combination was excellent, the wine’s not premier quality but it’s slight sourness goes very well with the pulpo. The calamares were the best I’ve ever had, soft and sweet.

We ummed and ahhed over what else to have, before settling on rabo (pigs tail) rather than oreja (pigs ear). Pigs tails are tasty, if a little fatty too.

As we ate the place filled up, and by the time we left they were two deep at the bar, waiting for tables.

So the last week has been all about storms here. Lots of wind, waves and rain. The UK press even reported a bit of it (thanks to the tragic collapse of a sports centre which killed 4 children near Barcelona). Despite all that, and despite a forecast which said rain, almost a full coachload of walkers assembled on Sunday with resigned smiles and shrugs and ‘we must be mad’ comments. The walk was close to Oviedo, and amazingly, as we left the city on the coach, the rain stopped, the clouds fled and the sun came out.

The walk was a horseshoe, so once we were up we had fantastic views of the snow covered cordillera cantabrica. The clouds built to the west but kept slipping past us to the South. It was a bit breezy (Lakeland breezy, like a cool spring day on the fells) and we walked and chatted (one guy told me all about buying LPs from England in the Franco years… his first album was Bob Dylan, which I didn’t understand because he pronounced it Vov-dye-lan). In a hamlet we stopped for a coffee de pote (brewed in a pot, old style) fortified with orujo and the owner of the bar opened up his ‘museum’ for us. It was his old bar, unchanged from the fifties (except for the addition of dust, pigeon droppings and mould). It was very rustic, both bar and grocers, with broken old radios, dusty empty bottles and stacks of folded old newspapers. On the wall was the then-obligatory photo of Franco.

Two kilometres from the end the route went past a restaurant. The group had booked places for those who wanted to eat. I had been told about this restaurant before, it’s got a limited menu but it’s famous for what it does cook. We arrived at 4:30 and the place was packed. We slotted into the limited space and set to eating the bread and sipping the cold red wine. What they do in this place is Pote or Fabada to start… but really good pote and really good fabada. Then chicken (pitu in Asturian) or lamb, then flan or rice pudding (the cold stuff they do here which is rather good). I should say and rather than or because they just bring everything and you eat what you want… if you run out, you ask for more. Ignacio, the president of the group said afterwards that he’d just had two plates of pote and two of fabada and a tiny amount of rice pudding. He’s very fond of his Asturian food and always asks us if we’ve tried something and whether we enjoyed it. The noise level was pretty high too… a roomful of Spaniards eating is like a pub full of English folk drinking…

Sometime while we were eating, the rain caught up with us and we did the last 2k in a torrent of rain. That’s okay though, we all had umbrellas, it wasn’t too windy, and the coach ride back was 15 minutes.

Wave at the camera Originally uploaded by itsjustanalias.

Liz got a text message just before the weekend. ‘Do you want to go to Gijon for dinner on Saturday?’ It was from Maria Jesus, one of the walking group members who’s about our age. Of course we said yes, so at 8:30 we were standing outside the Calatrava (the Ovetense name for the spaceship style building that doubles as a shopping centre and the Palacio del Congresso). Covadonga (Maria Jesus’ friend who we’ve met a few times) met us there and we walked along to where MJ picked us up.

Maria Jesus is not the world’s most confident driver but we managed to reach Gijon unscathed and then drove around a bit looking for a big enough parking space so that my parking skills wouldn’t be needed. That done it was time to stroll along the seafront (there’s something like 5kM of seafront) chatting away until we reached the restaurant. Both Liz and I like the relaxed approach to evening eating we’ve seen, we decided to pick a small plate each and share, rather than choose a main dish. So we troughed down on mini squid, ham, octopus, grilled fish and sea urchins (which Maria Jesus hadn’t had before).

After coffee we wandered. According to Covadonga it was a difficult hour, because it was a bit late for cafes and too early for the late night bars (it was 1am). We had a drink in a quiet wine bar and then the girls suggested we go to another place (where a friend of there’s had texted from). After asking directions a few times we got there and in we went. It was not really our cup of tea, I haven’t been in an English nightclub in quite a few years and even then Europop wouldn’t have been high on my list of destinations. Still, it was interesting watching the people (and there was no entrance fee). There was no dance floor, it seemed you just found a space and, well, danced… at the bar there were a couple of youngish blokes waiting for their whisky and red bulls and they were grinning and excitedly bouncing along to the music (part of me wanted to ask them if they really enjoyed it or if they had taken some recreational pharmaceuticals). It may be that in the UK it’s the same these days but I’m not sure, I felt like there was no air of self conciousness, no studied cool on display, people were just out, just having a good time. It felt foreign.

On the way back from skiing we stopped to eat in a place called Felechosa, high in the Aller valley. Most of the tables in the restaurant were reserved and there was a set menu on offer. If we didn’t like what was on offer, we’d have to go to some other town, the waitress said, because this was one of the Jornadas Gastranómicas de la Matanza. Literally the gastronomic days of the slaughter, traditionally, the time of year when the families killed one of their pigs (or, as was common enough, their only pig) and then made months worth of food from it. The menu was straightforward enough:

First of all an appetiser of Manitos de cerdo (pigs trotters, well the porky gelatinous parts of trotters, rather a nice flavour but definitely an acquired consistency).

Pote Asturiano con compango casero (chorizo, morcilla, costilla y lacon) Which is the traditional beans, potato, kale/greens with a chorizo, black pudding, pork ribs and belly pork (a bit of a pig theme then).

Picadillo Casero Lomo Adobado Casero These two came on the same plate, hiding some chips, picadillo is the filling for chorizo, it was quite spicy, and the lomo is nice thick slices of pork loin. (Remember, it is a pig they slaughter).

Panchón for dessert, which was a new one to all of us, but essentially is breadcrumbs from spelt bread, fried in butter and sugar.

This was not health food.

Accompanying the meal was wine, soda and following it was a chupito of orujo de arándanos, blueberry based alcohol.

I’m still full now.