Posts Tagged ‘food’

Chestnut drop in centre Originally uploaded by itsjustanalias.

Along the paseo de los alamos (the boulevard in front of the park) there are a number of art nouveau style ice cream stalls. In the past month a few of them have changed their spots and started sporting ‘castañas asadas’ signs. It’s chestnut season and, much like in the UK, a bag of roasted chestnuts is a fine autumn treat.

The old ladies in the outdoor bit of the market (the part where the local smallholders come in to sell whatever they have) is a good bellwether of the current state of veg. Things are turning green, not so many figs now, not so many lettuce or tomatoes. Now it’s more in the way of kale, cabbage and greens. But they all have a tray or two of chestnuts (and apples and pears still). Liz prefers to get her chestnuts from one particular old lady who looks about 300, thin and crooked with a deep lined face that suggests a lifetime of hard work. She stands a little apart from the other sellers, under a tree, next to her tartan shopping trolley and her only goods for sale. A mountain of chestnuts. Liz asked for half a kilo and she ‘misheard’ and sold us a kilo, but that was okay because they were delicious.

Detalle de los Callos de Bacalao con Boletus y Morcón Originally uploaded by jlastras.

Now that Liz is here, we have resumed our ongoing project to find the best lunch menu in town. It’s a difficult project but the rewards are excellent. On Friday (for the unwritten rules state that we can only do lunch one day a week, for wallet and waist related reasons) we tried a bar just round the corner, called Punto y Coma (full stop and comma: not anything to do with comas). I give a class at 3:30 on Fridays so we polled up at just before 2. This was a smart move because the tables were empty. Despite that, a lot of them had reserved signs so we ended up in the bar area rather than the restaurant. This wasn’t a bad thing, it let Liz examine the packed bar. Now, when I say packed bar, in Spain that seems to mean one deep, everyone with access to the bar itself, using it to rest their wine glasses, their plates of nuts, crisps, olives and hams, rather than an English packed bar which is basically a chaotically formed queue. Liz remarked on how well coiffed the ladies were and how smartly dressed everyone was (look at the shoes!!). We thought about this for a few minutes before figuring out that we were just round the corner from the centre of government of Asturias, and that this was probably the local for the local politicos and their staff.

The food was excellent, I started with callos with chickpeas… callos is a specific type of tripe, not something I’d normally go for, but hey… if you never try new stuff… Apparently this combination is typical in Madrid, the Asturians have a different serving method we’ll get to in the future. It was lovely, the tripe was in very small pieces so rather than rubbery, it melted in the mouth. Liz had a tuna and rice salad that came formed into a cube. Then Lubina (no idea what it translates as but it’s fish) while I tucked into chicken with garlic. My poor students… there was a ton of garlic, even the accompanying chips had a garlic flavour. After that we had a cream cheese with quince jelly dessert, and coffee. All for €10. At about nine that night Liz said ‘where shall we go next week?’

Para el desarme Originally uploaded by itsjustanalias.

“Spinach?” I was wandering through the market, the part where local folk bring their market garden produce to sell, tying to choose just which apples, figs, onions, mushrooms and the like I wanted. “Spinach?” Repeated the woman, “For the disarmament”.

Of course I’m translating, but El Desarme is what she said. Erm, I said.

“Desarme, desarme. You need spinach?”

I’d seen signs up in a few restaurants, they said El Desarme menu, spinach chickpeas and cod (the lovely bacalao, preserved in salt and then washed before cooking), followed by callao (I think) which (I think) is a tripe based stew, one of my students described it to me a few months ago, followed by rice pud.

El desarme is a tradition, rather than anything organized. It commemorates one of the battles of Oviedo in the Carlist wars, or the second Carlist wars. It’s also part harvest festival food (although why they need to use the tripe I’m not sure, the rest of the pig’s available no?).

So of course I bought the spinach and some bacalao and (heretically) added onions and tomato… it was lovely.

We were in a cafe (what’s new) the other day and Liz saw in the paper that this weekend was the sardine festival at Cándas. So of course we had to go. Cándas is a small seaside town that used to be a fishing village and now is a tourist town with a smattering of hotels and a good few bars. Every year (for the last 40 or so) they’ve had a festival to celebrate sardines.

We wandered up to the fiesta and had a good look round, there were five stalls, each run by a different local restaurant or bar. According to the paper they would each be grilling 5000 sardines each day of the festival. We could smell it from some way off. We picked our stall based on two things… one we knew the restaurant and two there were the shortest queues. So we went for the dozen sardines and a bottle of cider, for the tradition is to accompany the sardines with cider. A very friendly chap behind the bar gave us some pointers on more advanced cider drinking, apparently you have to pour it down your throat, rather than gulp it down, you have to be smooth (mas suave he said). After that he sold us on the corn bread rather than the white bread, and he was right, the slightly sweet corn bread went really well with the sardines. Liz asked for cutlery only to be told to use her hands and to be given a small demo on how to eat grilled sardines with your fingers. Oh my they were delicious, absolutely fantastic, and as we dug in, a couple of the folks behind the bar, including the grill chief, came over to see how we found them (muy ricas, we said). Friendly guy behind the bar kept pouring the culetes of cider, he was trying to get us smashed I’m sure. In the middle of all this a few dozen vespa riders came past in formation and we ended up chatting with a few of them, they got free sardines for being part if the parade but they were from Madrid so they didn’t know sidra, and we all ended up drinking a fair amount as we polished off the fish (and I cannot stress enough… they were absolutely gorgeous, there was much finger licking (a mix of lemon, cider and sardines mmmm). Then the friendly chap forced us to pour our own… Liz’s expression is a mixture of frustration and cider fuelled giggles.

The upshot was, we were both a little tipsy and full of oily fish as we got on the bus back to Oviedo.

Espicha Originally uploaded by ++Naho++.

We got off the bus and started looking for the place. I walked past it at first, an unmarked wooden door, followed by a little ceramic sign: Sidreria Gervasio.

I had got a text message from Ana, the mountain group’s secretary, inviting us to a meal to mark the mid year break in the group’s activities. The espicha is the name of the tap used to pour sidra directly from the barrels in the cider houses where they make the stuff. In the past, the owner of a cider house would invite his neighbours to try a new barrel of cider, and he’d provide food so that they wouldn’t just be drinking. Nowadays the word espicha seems to be more ‘food with cider’ than the testing of a new barrel.

We wandered into the place, it was a restaurant behind the wooden door but I couldn’t see any of the group amongst the diners. The waiter asked if we were part of a group and when we said the magic words (Grupo Naranco) he directed us to some doors at the back. The group were in a big room, high on the walls there were old empty barrels but we were drinking bottled cider. Young waiters waited by a small table in the middle of the room, and when someone said ‘culín’ or ‘culete’ to them, they poured a sidra, using mostly good technique, one arm held high, almost at full extension, with the bottle, the other arm holding the glass at mid-thigh level.

Liz hadn’t met any of the group before so they were all really happy to meet her, and of course I was rubbish at remembering everyone’s names (it’s even harder than remembering English names) but no pasa nada, no one minded and we dived in, chatting away. Two big tables were laid, and eventually, on some signal I didn’t see, people started sitting down. The food with an espicha is not complicated. You never need to use a knife, it’s all small pieces. You use a piece of bread to manage the food onto your fork and so each dish is perpetually accompanied by bread (as soon as it runs out there are shouts requesting more… it’s essential). Throughout the meal the waiters, between bringing food, kept a weather eye out for people needing cider. The food arrived in bits, on small plates and we just chatted and munched and drank for the next few hours.

Among the food: Bonito escabeche. Bonito is pale, delicate tuna, from the north sea, it’s a small fish and tastes wonderful. A couple of different sliced hams. Empanaditas, croquetes. Tiny pasties and cheesy hammy croquettes. Boquerones: Whole anchovies fried in batter. Merluza: Pieces of hake in batter. Chorizo in cider. Thick warm slices of boiled gammon. A couple of cheeses and then some tiny desserts.

Throughout the dinner we were treated to commentary about the food, about the different names, differing opinions of where to get the best cheeses or the subtle differences between one town and another. And every so often someone would make sure we were enjoying it. And we were.

We rounded off the meal with an oruxo (a grappa like spirit) and spent a while saying ‘see you in September’. Then Enrique and his wife very kindly gave us a lift home as it had started raining.

You swim for months, minding your own business and where does it get you? Originally uploaded by itsjustanalias.

and that’s no bad thing. I’ve had my parents visiting for the week, and we had a fine time, once the weather cleared up. I think it whetted their appetite for Asturias.

It did mean we ate out a lot more than I usually do, which gave us the chance to try a few new places and to return to a few old ones.

Fair’s fair Originally uploaded by itsjustanalias.

This weekend there are a few bits and pieces going on thanks to it being the ascension. In the cathedral square there has been an invasion from the countryside. There are stalls selling leather, silver, rides on donkeys and horses. There are cows being milked, horseshoes being forged, the sound of the pipes all over the place. All of the stallholders seem to be in traditional dress (which includes studded clogs: wooden ones with four great big studs like pillars… I saw someone in a field wearing them when I went to Quiros climbing with Jorge, studs are a good idea in the mud I guess). I wandered around with my camera, bumped into one of my students who was very pleased to tell me that now I had to speak spanish.

In the next plaza there were more stalls, only this time food. I wandered around trying all the stuff that my Asturias guidebook had mentioned, like the Buckwheat ‘escanda’ bread, frixuelos (pancakes), chorizos and cheeses from lots of different valleys. I ended up getting some lovely creamy cows milk cheese called uno de los caserinos and a boar chorizo which has a fine kick. I also tried something I’d seen mentioned in a couple of places, leche frita, fried milk. It’s sort of a set milk (like a custard but without vanilla) that’s then battered and fried with a sweet crunchy batter with cinnamon. It was one of those things you know you have to eat when you see it and it was lovely, soft and creamy and bad for the teeth, I had to wash it down with some sidra dulce (apple juice as far as I can tell).

Up above the railway station there was another big group of marquees, one of which was full of cheese sellers, and another which was put up by the Brotherhood of cheesemakers (I want an application form, they have cloaks and stuff). There was a lot of chorizo, a lot of cabrales cheese and some anchovy specialists looking out of place (I bought some, it was so nice, without being salty).

According to the guidebook there are seventy or so food festivals, which, as the mathematically astute will know, works out to more than one a week. Next week, for example, in Santoloaya de Cabranes they’re having the 24th festival of Arroz con Leche; that would be rice pudding… Not only that, it’s a three dayer, starting on Friday. There’s a €200 prize for the best pud, this is not Ambrosia country here… (have a look at www.cabranes.es if you like). It’s not just food, there’s a five day gold panning competition in July among other things.

It’s Saturday afternoon at around 3:45 and it seems like not much is stirring. The sun has been out the last couple of days, and the temperature’s up in the mid 20s so the city has been transformed. Instead of groups of Spanish tourists wandering from church to cathedral in raingear and wearing fishing hats, they were wandering in sunglasses and everyone else (it seemed) was out on the streets earlier. The tables outside the cafes were busy, people were smiling and chatting. On Saturdays the market is busy early but no one else seems to be about until 11, then at around 12 there’s a secret signal (I assume) and everyone else heads out to shop, to chat, to see and to be seen. Then at 2 everything shuts, that is, everything that hasn’t already shut, and the streets become quiet, the traffic dies down, the pavements empty. The smell of grilled fish or the cooking of chickpeas wafts out from windows, open behind half closed shutters. It’s getting on for lunch time.

I bought a load of salad stuff among other things this morning, it’s warm enough so that my body actually is craving salad rather than hearty bean based stews. I’m lucky I was able to buy anything because a couple of days ago I had a brainstorm and managed to mangle my PIN and I still can’t remember it (they’re sending a renotification). Luckily Brian, Liz’s dad was able to give me my PIN for my business account (which was back in Greetland) so I’m solvent but for a while there I thought I was going to have to make €50 go an awfully long way.

The upshot of that is that I splurged on cheese. The cheesemonger knows I’m working my way through the Asturian cheeses and today I picked this one, the Beyos goat’s cheese (there’s a cow and a sheep version too). Señor cheesemonger said it was really good but quite strong, to which I said that was fine. It´s got the texture of a dry cheshire cheese but very definite goatiness and it´s pretty tangy and salty the way a nice cheddar can be. So overall a thumbs up for Beyos.

In an hour or so the yoot will begin congregating for their Saturday afternoon yootfulness, I´m going to sit on the terrace and enjoy the peace while it lasts.

Evening stroll Originally uploaded by itsjustanalias.

That’s what the barman/waiter at the cathedral de vino said when we asked him the difference between pinchos and tapas. He boiled it down to pinchos are more for one person, tapas are more for sharing. There was more but who has the time. The reason we asked is because we went there to taste the pincho they had which was a finalist in last year’s pincho and tapas competition. This year’s competition starts next week and now I have the map of the competitors I have an idea of what I’ll be doing in the evenings now Liz is off to Italy.

We’d had a sidra at the Fontan and walked back, meandering past the Feria del Abril, which was a flamenco thing (unfortunately what we saw was like watching ballet schools putting on shows). Liz mentioned that she might like to try the pincho we saw the other day. So we did. It was called Orillas de Cantabria (The Cantabrian seashore). It came on a steel tray, curved like a wave at one end. A spoon rested on the tray and above it, held suspended over the tray by a wire, was a small cup, the size of a sherry glass, filled with rice. The waiter said you should put the spoon in your mouth for a taste of the seashore, and then afterward eat the rice for a taste of the earth. We did as he said and looked at each other as mouths filled with the tang of seaweed and salt air, the spoon held a bit of sea urchin essence, a tiny shred of seaweed and a few grains of whatever they made space dust from, the sweet that popped on your tongue. It was a little strange, as the crystals popped they filled your mouth with the sense of a rockpool. Then the rice, which was almost a risotto, with earthy wild mushrooms.

The waiter didn’t tell us too much about their entry for this year, it’s got chicken in, and we’ll have to come back next week to taste it, but he did show us the previous year’s serving style which was a piece of salmon suspended on a wire over the dish suggesting leaping salmon in a waterfall. I have the map here, there are 77 entrants for the competition, which is just in Oviedo. I may be gone some time…

Rabas & Pintxos Originally uploaded by JaulaDeArdilla.

I’d been swimming, so I had an appetite. I’ve worked my way up to, thanks to Liz’s encouragement, sets of 10 or 20 laps of crawl at a time (I did 60 in total… yay me) so it’s not surprising after just a traditional Spanish breakfast of some bread, toasted, with oil, I was peckish. I wandered into the bar and had a coffee, almost by reflex ordering. Then I noticed that the chap next to me had some tortilla sandwich affair that he was attacking with some gusto (I put relish there but I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of any relish). I asked the waiter what pinchos they had, that being what these fine bar snacks seem to be called, and he reeled off a list. When he got to calamares the squid receptor in my brain pinged and I said I’d have one of those then. Three minutes later and I was the proud possessor of a squid buttie, three fat rings of goodness in batter in a crusty but not brittle bread roll, hot and lovely.