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.

A very long time ago, I took a little trip away from Madrid to Toledo. ( I have been neglecting my writing, there is much to document!)  The medieval town really hasn’t changed in centuries….the roads wind through the small central area each stone laid lovingly by hand and the bowed wood of the door frames divulge their antiquity.   After visiting the Catedral and seeing El Greco’s masterpiece Entierro del Conde de Orgaz, I proceeded to get hopelessly, and happily lost winding my way around Mosques, Synagogues and Churches; three cultures who lived at peace for nearly 700 years.

I bought a two things in Toledo, a present for my dear mother (can’t tell you what!) and Mazapán, the sweet almond candy that is ubiquitous (ubicou, my newest Spanish word) in Toledo.

The history of this tasty treat depends completely on who you ask, but Toledo’s story tells that Mazapán was invented by Toledo’s monks in the San Clemente Convent when extreme hunger persisted during the Battle of Navas De Tolosa (1212) during the Muslim conquest of  Spain.  Though the “dulce” is thought to be christian, its name is distinctly Arabic. Some scholars trace its etymology to the world “mahsaban” which refers to a pastry or dessert made with almonds and dried fruits while others think the word comes from “mantha-ban” meaning sitting king.

Mazapán itself has two basic ingredients, sugar and almonds (azucar y almedras)  to which other flavors are added, such as egg, honey or jam.  Just like Jamón, Toledo’s Mazapán production is controlled by the Ministerio de Agricultura, and the true form must consist of no less than 50% almonds by weight.  So interesting!

This is the one that I tasted, filled with a bit of “yema ducle” or sweetened egg yoke.  Walking through the streets, the windows were full of Mazapán art, sculptures of little children, apples, pears and oranges, even a detailed replica of the Catedral.  The flavor is very strong and the texture is quite dense. It’s a common treat at Christmas time, as a normal person couldn’t possibly eat this everyday, let alone more than one tiny piece at a time. Although, as a lover of all things almond (nut, flavor, heart healthy fat) this definately has my stamp of approval.

When in a foreign country, I tend to overextend myself right away.  My first full week in Madrid was no exception. I already pulled all sorts of ligaments in my knee jumping around the metro stairs.   It’s a good thing that the Spanish equivalent of “icy hot” is super strong….I simply didn’t notice the pain and continued my explorations.

I have found a few places where I would be glad to be known as a regular.

First, at Juan a la Loca, a restaurant in La Latina, I found the gourmet tapas I’ve been looking for.  It was also my first encounter with baby eels. Gross? Not at all. The highlights of this cena de cinco tapas (a five tapa dinner) include:  a spinach crepe wrapped around tender baby eels, thinly sliced asparagus, crispy garlic and chilies in a slightly creamy sauce mounted like a horn of plenty on toasted bread and a forkable piece of baby sirloin steak with a fried quail egg,–tender and velvety — on the same olive oil toast.

Second, I love Los Cuevas del Sesamo, its magical cavernous basement and communal jars of strong sangria.  I’m on a search for the best sangria and I’m very picky.  I don’t like anything too sweet, I want to taste some heat from the red wine and cointreau, but I want to the fruit to cut across my palate leaving my tongue feeling light and refreshed and a bit sassy.  So far this extra smoky, always-packed basement lounge is in the lead.

Third, Lavinia wine store, which boasts over 4000 bottles of every variety, tinto, blanco, rosado y más, is excellent.  I went in search of the best red wine I have ever tasted. A few years back, my father bought a case or so of a Spanish wine called Clio, from 2004.  The first time I tasted it, I knew it was good, but over the summer, we opened the final bottle from the well-enjoyed stash.  It is without a doubt the finest red wine to cross my lips. Well, you can’t get Clio in the States, I’ve found it online shipping for something like $75, but in no wine or liquor store.  It’s just so tasty, that it’s gone.  Well not in Spain.  The 2006 year is currently going for 32 €.  Though I couldn’t afford, nor I carry it at the time, I sat in the small bar and asked for a good cheap red.  I felt I deserved it after 2 hours of walking. The friendly bartender  brought out three varieties, including a white that she thought I might like because of my taste in reds (! Wow !).  I ended up indulging in a glass of  AALTO, 2005 Ribera Del Duero.  And she brought me Spanish almonds.  I was in a heaven.

Judging by the amount I had to write about the wine, clearly that is a lasting memory.  I’m going back as soon as I can.

Check back shortly for more information about the wines of Spain.  I can’t wait to dig in.

Until next time, hasta luego.

I would like some bread and olive oil please, but I’ll take it in the form of ice cream.  I went to a old fashioned ice cream parlor the other day, but I went specifically for the very modern take of flavorings.  This sweet spot is called Bruin.  It sits right next to Parque del Oeste, a great place to take a walk in the light of the setting sun as you lick your cone.

I really want to try their cheese flavored ice cream (traditional Spanish idiazabal) but, seeing as it’s February and not ice cream season the selection was more limited. I had to settle for olive oil and blueberry. I am certainly going to return for the Sorbet de Cerveza.  Beer sorbet? I think yes.

The olive oil was very smooth as I expected, flavorful but not overwhelming.  It  went perfectly with the blueberry—the icy acid of one cut the richness of the other. Oh, and the cone was perfect.

I brought my friend Scottie along, he enjoyed the treat as well. But he’s holding out for tomato and tamarind.

Strawberries are gone, blueberries past their prime and I can’t find a fresh local raspberry to save my life. So, in late late summer (ok maybe early fall) I’ve turned my love of jam to the tomato.

Mark Bittman, of the NY Times blog Bitten, featured a tomato jam this august. It was the mention of Barcelona which truly caught my eye (I’ll spend almost 7 months there early next year). I’m all about foods used out of their normal element, and I was quite tired of caprese salad. The jam delivered true tomato taste that and enhanced by the spices.

However, I have to disagree with Mr. Bittman that this is a good morning treat, I much prefer it in the afternoon with a piece of good sharp white cheddar and fresh crusty bread. Because of my affinity for the salty rather than the sweet, I reduced the 1 cup sugar in the recipe to less than 1/3 cup. The jam didn’t suffer, in fact, the tomato’s sweetness was nearly enough to balance the lime’s acidity and jalapeno’s heat. I also increased the amount of cayenne and added some seeds from the jalapeno to kick it to the next level. I think the two types of peppers give this recipe dimension and identity.

Side note about the type of tomato: you want something that will hold up alright late in the cooking process. Avoid mushiness and look for firm-ripe. Romas or plums are actually wonderful in this, but only if you can get the locally grown kind or the really thing from San Marzano.

This is my version of Late Summer Tomato Jam

1 1/2 lbs tantalizingly ripe tomatoes
1/4 to 1/3 cup sugar depending on your taste buds
2 1/2 Tbsp fresh squeezed lime juice
1 tbsp freshly grated ginger…oooh what a smell
3/4 tsp cumin
1/8 tsp cinnamon
1/8 tsp allspice
1 jalapeno seeded and finely chopped
1/2-3/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1 tsp salt
freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Put all ingredients in a mediums sauce pan and stir to mix. Heat over a medium flame until boiling, stirring frequently.
2. Reduce heat to low and simmer until the tomatoes have deconstructed and yielded to a mushy goodness, about 75 min. Taste, season, cool and enjoy.

Other suggestions: its great with pork loin (as almost any fruit or chutney is). Try it with a side of scallion studded couscous. Killer, and great for your health too!