Picnic List:

Freshly sliced prosciutto di Parma
Hand pulled mozzarella
Cherry Tomatoes
Half of loaf of bread
Meaty green olives
A bottle of red wine
A handsome (half) Italian guy.

Oh, and a sunset ordered up special.

I think I have dreamt about this type of picnic most of my life. Some people dream of money or fame, but for me, its usually about food.

The cheese was superior, 6 small, white globes of cheese, floating in slightly milky water just waiting to be devoured.  They were so fresh I could peel them, layer by luscious layer.  Making mozzarella is almost as wonderful as eating it…kneading the curd in warm water with your hands, the long strands slowly coming together, wrapping around each other until the warm ball forms in your fingers, how great.

And the meat! Amazingly, but unsurprisingly, superior to anything store-bought in the US.  Prosciutto is Italy’s version to Jamón Serrano in Spain. Just like jamón it is crudo meaning that its raw but cured in salt and spices. Prosciutto however, has less salt which I believe instills a softer, smoother flavor and gentler texture.  But maybe its just that I’m in search of something different after eating a dangerous quantity of bocadillos de jamón in the last five months. Both meats are stamped with PDO or DOP (depending on your language) “Protected Designation of Origin” to demonstrate their authenticity and to differentiate taste. The diet of the pigs really does make a difference,  instead of belotas, some Italian pigs enjoy meals that include parmigiano reggiano cheese giving their meat a distinctly nutty flavor.

The bread and tomatoes were local, baked and harvested that morning, and the wine– well you can imagine.  It truly was the greatest picnic ever.

On Wednesday, my Spanish host mother, Rita, and I went adventuring to Puerta del Sol around lunchtime.  We left our house searching for “lo major bacalao en Madrid.” The traditional preparation of bacalao is essentially the fish portion of “fish and chips.” The bacalao seco, commonly known as salt cod, is left to soften in water to get rid of much of its salt. Eventually after about a day of bath time, it is breaded and deep fried with much cariño. The result is a truly silky and delicious fish: at once flaky and stake-y.

The unassuming place we entered has no menu, and as we sat down at the small table in the window, both of us on one side to watch the old men mingle at the bar, the waiter said:

“Que les apetece tomar?  El bacalao, las albondigas, los callos…” the waiter asked us.
“Nos pones el bacalao y los callos” said Rita with out thinking and looking at me she said, “Tengo sed, quieres una clara? ”
“Si claro!” I responded to the drink, beer with lemon soda, totally delicious and refreshing.

Os explico, let me explain.  Rita asked for a portion bacalao, which was indeed wonderful, and a portion of callos, better known as cow stomach. On my journey to try new and strange foods, Callos a la madrilena was clearly on my list and thankfully it is now checked off. Callos can be found all over the Iberian Peninsula (Spain and Portugal) but arguable the best callos (if you’re a fan) can be found in the Spanish Capital city.  In the 19th century, this particular presentation was deemed a Madrileño plate when Lhardy, a very upscale restaurant put them on their menu beside pristine cuts of prime rib and fois gras to represent the true country-style Spanish cuisine.

The key to this dish, according to my Spanish mom, is to wash the stomach really, really well with vinegar and water until the liquid runs clear. Then, in a big pot, sauté garlic, onion, bay leaf, and the callos cooking until very tender and the stomachs have released there water.  Reserve the liquid, called caldo.  Rita would put all this in an express or pressure cooker to make it go faster.  In another pan, meanwhile, sauté diced onion, jamón Serrano, chorizo, morcilla (check back for more information soon) with hot paprika and of course, olive oil.  When all this is good and soft, add the reserved caldo and simmer for 20 minutes.

At this point, unite the dish: red, meaty sauce tops eerily bone colored callos and there you have it: at least four different types of mean and a truly textural journey.

In my research for this entry I came across a Madrid state website that said: Como colofón, una buena sobremesa y una mejor siesta.  For a final touch, have a good after meal talk, or better yet, a nice nap.

In Spain, April showers bring May flowers just like in the US, but April also brings Easter and the week long vacation called Semana Santa that directly precedes egg painting time.  In cities all throughout the country, the Cofradías, Fraternal Brotherhoods of the Church, process along twisting cobblestone roads, adored in white and gold and bearing statues of Christ and the saints on their backs.

I, on the other hand, watched the festivities on a small television hidden away in the beach town of Peñíscola, about 250 kilometers south of Barcelona.  This April’s Semana Santa did in fact bring a lot of rain, and while I tried to get a little tan (after a short polar plunge in the Mediterranean) my favorite part of the vacation ended up being my lesson in Torrijas, the traditional dessert of holy week.

Torrijas are essentially a fried version of French toast or portable bread pudding- bread, milk, sugar, eggs and spices (honey, muscatel wine and cinnamon are all added to the eaters liking).  Standing in the tiny, very humid kitchen with my Spanish host mother, I began my apprenticeship. Everyone’s recipe is a little different, but in this case, first we mixed milk, sugar, cinnamon, and muscatel wine in a bowl and submerged slices of bakery bread two at a time.  Meanwhile, I beat four eggs in a separate bowl and heated frying oil in a pan. After we had a stack of 12 or so bread slices, we dredged them in the eggs and fried them up.  Delicious? Obviously.  Heart attack?…probable.  This is not what my doctor had in mind when she said watch your cholesterol.

Torrijas, are ubiquitous during Semana Santa.  Bakeries, restaurants and even convenience stores hang sign in their windows—“Hay Torrijas”— to attract the sweet-toothed Spanish population. The classic postre originated in Spanish monasteries in the 15th century as a way to make good and cheap use of leftovers. This year, El Mundo, a Madrileño newspaper, estimated that 3 million torrijas were sold, or said another way, 375,000 kilos (787,100 pounds)!

For me, this pastry came at the perfect time, feeling a little homesick, nothing says comfort like a few warm torrijas and a spanish soap opera.

Here is Mark Bittman’s take on the Spanish treat, and because I trust him implicitly, give this one a whirl.  Plus, the recipe is in English.

Nothing in Marrakesh seemed quite as ubiquitous as the tagine.  I love this style of cooking.  Driving to the High Atlas Mountains, I saw roadside restaurants with dozens of the earthenware ceramic pots lined on a table over low burning flames.  I don’t know how you could not like the Moroccan Tagine.  The flavor combinations, the tenderness of the meat, and the sweet smelling steam rising from the hole at the top of the pot, all attract locals and tourists alike for a late afternoon feast.

Tagine is the name for the pot, but is it also the name of the dish, you you may order a tagine of lamb on a menu (as you would order a stew, for example) which means it is cooked in a tagine, that triangle shaped pot in the photo.  According to Paula Wolfert who has a book on the subject of Moroccan eating, the meat can be a cheaper cut, like a chicken thigh or a lamb shoulder because it cooks for so long, that it eventually falls off the bone, full of flavor.  Also, cooking in a tagine  doesn’t require browning the meat first (really much attention after you get it started!).  Walking along a waterfall in the Ourika Valley, I lifted the lid of one a steaming tagine at the urging of our nimble guide. Beneath a hunk of meat, rounds of potatoes cooked in bubbling, aromatic liquid, I was hungry right away.

I ate two very memorable tagines during my four days in Marrakesh.  The first was the ultra common, and ultra delicious chicken with preserved lemon and olives. The second was lamb with prunes and walnuts, a great sweet spice combination.  I love that tagine cooking accepts all sorts of ingredients, it means whatever is in season,  plums, apples, cherries, almonds, walnuts, oranges, etc, can be used.  Those examples are just the trees I saw in bloom, I’m certain there are many more. In both dishes, the meat was succulent and dripping in juice.  The lamb was maybe my favorite, not overwhelmingly lamby and perfectly balanced by the dried fruit…oh I want some right now!

Here are two recipes that I intend to try as soon as I can, although my host brother in Madrid told me (lovingly of course) that the Moroccan dinner I made last week was best eaten by the dog. I think I might wait until I get back to the States….

Chicken Tagine with Olives and Preserved Lemon

Lamb Tagine with Prunes and Cinnamon

Enjoy!

Marrakesh is a sensual feast, the sounds of hundreds of voices speaking different languages, the grit of the dirt on my sweaty forehead, the smell of fresh cumin mixing with roasted meats and of course the transporting taste of mint tea, poured from a decorative silver pot high in the air.  There is no way to truly describe my four day stint in Marrakesh last week: it was the first time I have ever experienced culture shock, and it taught me a lot.

I do promise to move on to the culinary delights that I discovered, I just need to pontificate for one more moment.  The culture, at least to me, is very clearly in transition.  On one side of the street, a young women wears a full burka, and on the other, a teenager bears her belly a bit beneath a tight t-shirt. A motorcycle speeds by playing pop music, while a donkey heaves the weight of Moroccan ceramic behind him. Ok, ok, I’m off my soap box. I just can’t say enough about how interesting it was to visit somewhere totally different.  Coming home to Madrid felt almost like coming home to Minnesota in comparison.

SO! TO THE MEAT OF THE MATTER (literally). Let’s begin.  The Djemma El Fna (say Je-ma-fna) Square is the hub of activity in Marrakesh.  By day, it bustles with monkeys, snake charmers and men selling the most wonderful fresh squeezed orange juice, but by night it is a full blown grill-off.  The air fills with smoke and the scent of browning meats, and competing venders tempt you with their menus in four or five languages.  Doesn’t matter if you’re full, they want you to eat more.

My dinner started off with a bang of protein, small sausages and sweet-hot tomato chutney with warm flat bread.  Honestly, it wasn’t far off from a very tasty polish sausage…we aren’t as different as we think…

Then came the snails.  I can’t say I liked them. In fact, I really didn’t.  I’ll stick with the french-ifed version with pleanty of butter.

Moving on, kababs of chicken and veggies, lamb and beef all marinated in ras al hanout, I believe.  Ras el Hanout is a mixture of spices and everyone does it a little differently but normally, it includes cardamon, cinnamon, cumin, nutmeg, coriander, paprika and more. Its name means “Head of Shop” because the best spices are selected.  One of the things my family and I purchased (along with a drum made of fish skin, fake Ray Ban sunglasses, and a very old soup spoon) was a big bag of this spice mix.

I think dessert was my favorite part.  This tea in the photo is not mint, but rather ginger and ginseng. And that cake! It is like the most intense spice cake you’ve ever tasted but stronger, richer, and more honest. It doesn’t hold together but rather just melts into a hot mess in your mouth. I will cherish its taste my tongue forever.

Tired, full and dusty, I collapsed in my bed, ready to head to the High Atlas mountains the next morning….

The Sea Urchin, or erizo has to be one of the most interesting things I have eaten so far.  Far up north in the Asturias region of Spain (maybe I got there on the back of a motorcycle? you never can tell….)  in a city called Gijón, I stood at long bar, staring at the black shapes on my plate getting ready to attack. I saw them the day before….I have to have those I thought.  And I did.

They were presented steamed, though you will find them in the haute cuisine of Spain as an oceanic accent.  The best way to describe what spiky sea urchin tastes like is being hit in a face with a very big ocean wave.  Es como un golpe de una ola del mar en su cara....  The part to eat is the caviar, that would be the orange bits in the middle.  Apparently the females produce a much better flavor than the males, but both are yummy, high in protein with certain anticancer properties.  Not bad for such a freaky looking little guy! I wouldn’t recommend fishing for these yourself though, some are poisonous!