The last of the Reina Claudias

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 9

If you exit my office building, turn left, walk two blocks and then turn right on the Rambla de Poblenou, you’ll reach the Mediterranean in about 12 minutes.  Having woken to bright sun after two days of blustery wetness, I took exactly that walk this afternoon. The sea is a wonder, and I feel more fully myself whenever I get myself near it.  A paved path runs forever at the edge of the beach, and it is among my favourite places to walk in this city.  The beach attracts the same cast of characters it does in Asbury Park—the skateboarders, people with dogs, solitary thinkers, and fortune seekers with their metal detectors.  All peacefully coexisting.

Living in a city as fabulous as Barcelona is unspeakably satisfying, and to have it sitting on a beach is almost too much to bear.

* * *

When we first arrived in Barcelona in August, we went to the Mercat Galveny with Myron and Raquel to check it out. It being August, most of the stalls were closed, but we found a produce stand open and stopped to pick up a few things.  Raquel spotted a basket of small, yellow-green plums, bought a half kilo, and insisted that I eat one right then and there.  The sweet-tangy flavour stopped me cold.  I closed my eyes and let the juice fill my mouth and run down my throat.  It tasted plummy, to be sure, but unlike any plum I had ever tasted.  Perfumey and delicate and complex.  Flesh that is soft but not mushy.  It was a Reina Claudia.

After that, I made sure we always had some in the house, although I found that they spoil quickly.  Reina Claudias are about the size of apricots, so it is easy to eat several at a clip, and I did.  Then, as happens with all fruit, the season seemed to end.  You could still find them at the market, but they looked shrivelly and wan.  I left them there, and moved on to pomegranates and figs.  But one day, as I made my purchases, I saw a beautiful little basked of the lovelies, and they looked perfect.

“I thought the Reina Claudia season had ended,” I said to the vendor.

“These are the last ones,” she told me.

Of course, I could not resist.  I bought them and opened the package as soon as I got home.  I should have known better.  Beautiful on the outside, but brown on the inside, the flavour past.  I suppose the fact that I can’t always have them makes me enjoy them all the more when I can.

The markets are now overflowing with persimmons.  I have never done much with persimmons, so figuring out what to do with them will be my next adventure.  Stay tuned.

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Brownie Redux

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 9

My sister Jody was really bothered when she found out, through the blog, that I had been making brownies from a mix for years.  So, even though she has a newborn, she spent precious hands-free time tracking down a recipe for me from a colleague.

Last weekend a local architect who I had met with once invited us to lunch.  I offered to bring dessert.  I made a pear and ginger crisp but thought the kids might not like it, so I made the brownies for them.   The crisp was fine but not knock-your-socks-off; I’ve come to the conclusion that crisps are best with berries, stone fruits, and apples.

The brownies?  Tremendous.  I did not put in the optional cayenne pepper because the kids would have rejected them for sure.

Here’s the recipe, courtesy of Jeana, in case you, too are stuck in a brownie rut.

Preheat the oven to 350.
Melt 1 stick of unsalted butter on super-low in a medium saucepan. Remove from heat.
Add 1 cup granulated sugar. Stir.
Add 2 eggs and 1 tablespoon vanilla. Stir.
Add 1/2 cup unsweetened Hershey's cocoa (err on the side of the 1/2 cup being a little over-full rather than
under-full). Stir.
Add 3/4 cup all-purpose flour, 1 teaspoon salt (err on the side of the teaspoon being a little under-full rather
than over-full), and 1/2 teaspoon baking powder. Stir.
Optional: add in a bit of cayenne pepper.
Lightly grease an 8" x 8" pan with butter, and pour the batter in.
Bake for 20 to 25 minutes (22 minutes is usually perfect), until a fork inserted in the middle comes out clean.
Allow to cool uncovered, so a slight crust forms on top.
Enjoy!

Two Things You Should Never Do in Barcelona...

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 9

When the kids and I arrived at their school this morning, we were greeted by a middle school kid standing on the corner waving an enormous Barça flag.  On the patio, a gang of rambunctious boys, all decked out in Barca regalia, rallied around another flag holder, and they all proceeded to march around the schoolyard.  “Can I join the parade, Mama?” asked C.C.

I brought the kids to school today in my yoga pants, sneakers and a sweatshirt.  This is practically the daily uniform of millions of American mothers. As long as everything is clean and it fits you well, you’re good to go.

Not so in Barcelona.

I have been told that there are two things one never does here.  The first is wearing exercise gear as streetwear.  There are women who come to school in their tennis togs, but they drive to school, and then to their club.  I don’t think they are actually seen on the street in their tennis clothes.  And, like me, many of these women are Not From Here.  I do not think I have seen a single Spanish woman on the street in sweatpants and sneakers.

And the second no-no is eating in a public place that is not a restaurant.  One day last week I committed both crimes.  At the same time.

Here’s what happened.  I had to bring the kids to school, then go straight to Spanish class (which is at their school), and then straight to yoga if I wanted to make the noon class.  Which meant I had to be dressed for yoga when I set out.  I suppose I could have gotten dressed and then changed at the yoga studio, but this seemed silly to me.  It’s probably what a native would have done, however. Spanish class let out a little early, and I was famished, so I parked the car, popped up to the apartment, and made a peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwich on brioche.  I highly recommend the combination.  I did not have time to sit and eat it, and still make it to class on time, so I took it to go, which meant that I ate it while walking to yoga.

I got more than a few looks; you would have thought I warranted a spot on the Spanish version of America’s Most Wanted. 

I get it, I really do and, as I’ve written before, I am fighting hard on the front line of the battle against multi-tasking.  But sometimes, it’s really hard.  And Spaniards simply do not understand how anyone could eat anywhere but at a table. Eating and doing anything else at the same time is simply unthinkable. 

The parents of one of my kids’ grades recently had a coffee morning.  We do this about once a month.  Everyone chats, and if there are questions or issues the class parents bring them to the teachers and administrators.  One of the Spanish mothers, talking about one of the teachers, said, “Miss X treats the classroom like her apartment!  She eats her lunch at her desk—it smells like chicken in there all the time!”  She was outraged.  I felt like saying, “Lady, come to the US.  Everything smells like chicken.  People eat on the street, at their desks, in their cars.”  I have not seen a single drive-thru since we arrived in August.

The thing is, I agree with her.  I prefer a culture in which people value the importance of selecting, preparing and eating, enjoy their food, rest at table at least three times a day.  Eating mindfully is more holistically sustaining than simply pumping calories, like fuel, into your body. I’ve started noticing just how many meals I eat standing up.  Or while I’m checking email, reading the paper, chopping onions.  Living in another context has made me see myself in bolder relief.  You do the things you always do, but then when you are surrounded by people who are not doing the same things, you perceive your actions differently, maybe even question things you did daily, without thinking. Still, old habits die hard. 

Mindful eating, along with slow food, has gained momentum in recent years.  The Center for Mindful Eating claims that “Mindful Eating can bring us awareness of our own actions, thoughts, feelings and motivations, and insight into the roots of health and contentment.”  “Surviving Girl Scout Cookie Season,” is a recently posted article on the TCME Website.  You can also learn about mindful eating at www.mindfuleating.org, which features testimonials from followers who have lost weight using the CAMP (Control, Attitudes, Mindful eating, and Portions) system.

Thich Nhat Hanh, the Buddhist monk whose writings embody integrity and wisdom advises: “When you chew, chew only the carrot, not your projects or your ideas.”

I don’t think you’d ever catch Thich Nhat Hanh walking down the street eating a peanut butter sandwich.  But I’d like to think that if he saw me, he would understand, if he knew I was on my way to yoga.

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Milo, in the role of the "lobster" in the kindergarten production of "Swimmy."

El Clasico

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 9

Over lunch today, a Catalan told me that if I wanted to go to any restaurant or movie, or drive through the city with zero traffic, tonight would be the night.  Tonight—as I write this, in fact—FC Barcelona is playing Real Madrid in an unbelievable rivalry known as “El Clásico.”  Everyone in the city is either at the game (99,374) or watching it on TV.  Bars and restaurants charge admission.  Josep—my lunch informant—claimed that everyone would be leaving work early today, even though the game did not start until 9 pm.  It feels like Manhattan the day before July 4^th weekend starts.

This game is bigger than the Super Bowl.  Much bigger.

“El Clásico” is the name given to any game played between these two teams, and they have been playing for 111 years.  Real Madrid has won the most times—85—although Barça won the last time they played. Tonight’s game is at Camp Nou, Barça’s field, and it is raining.  And cold.  Honestly, although one would pay a king’s ransom for a ticket to this game, I am glad not to be out in that weather.  But then I am hardly the world’s biggest futbol fan.  No matter—it is impossible not to get swept up in Barça Fever if you live here for very long.

The media have been hyping the storied rivalry for weeks.  The first issue concerned the scheduling of the game; it was supposed to take place yesterday, the same day as the regional elections.  There was a lot of discussion about whether the game would disrupt the election and, ultimately, the game was moved from yesterday to today.  Then the protests began—how could a game of such magnitude be held on a workday?!?  Sacrilege.

A couple of times a week, Alec buys the local, sports-only newspaper Mundo Deportivo (Sports World)—which is basically a Barça paper because no other sport or team approaches FCB.  As a result of Alec’s studious reading of Mundo Deportivo, I know everything from how many Facebook friends each team claims (FCB: 7,248,184; RM: 6,150,493--(Barca has 3 times as many fans as the NY Yankees, to give you a bit of context)) to what the ref’s day job is (dentist).  My regular daily paper, La Vanguardia, published an article today titled “If soccer was an art,” in which dancers, directors, and architects held forth about the game and the two teams, the premise being that everyone talks so much about the artistry of the game that it was high time to ask the opinion of actual artists.  The director, Sergi Belbel, likened Real Madrid to the superstar productions of Broadway featuring actors like Antonio Banderas and Penelope Cruz, while Barca, he claimed, resembled more the serious theater of the West End of London, which favors strong team player types like Anthony Hopkins and Vanessa Redgrave.  Belbel writes that he loves to watch the Barca coach, Pep Guardiola, because he has the same movements and relationship with his players as a theater director.

But what gives the Madrid/Barca matchup a dimension that all other sports rivalries lack is the political piece. I have written before about the tension between Catalunya and the rest of Spain, the desire for many Catalans to become a nation.  Madrid is the capital of Spain and so is identified strongly with Spanish nationalism, whereas Barca connects with Catalan nationalism.  Even though several FC Barcelona players started on the triumphant Spanish World Cup team, many Catalonians paid not attention to the tournament and did not take pride in the victory.  One rarely sees anyone in Barcelona wearing a Spain jersey, whereas you can buy a Barca jersey on every street corner.  The political component connects to a class component.  Alec asked a taxi driver his opinion of the rivalry this week, and got this response:  “Well, when I think of Real Madrid, I think of rich people.  And the government.   And by the government, I mean Franco.”

So there are now 10 minutes left in the game, and Barca is up 4 – 0.  My Dad always said that a game isn’t over ‘til it’s over, but I think this one is almost ready for the record books.

Our little, belated Thanksgiving

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 9

We spent our day preparing—and eating—the Thanksgiving feast.  Seeing as how it’s so quiet here on Sundays, it seemed like the right day to do it.  We also had the El Classico (Real Madrid vs. Barça) hype on the TV in the background, substituting for the American Thanksgiving football game noise.

Milo went to his friend Mario’s house for a playdate, and in between cooking steps I worked with C.C. on her samurai diorama project.  I prepped the green beans—a new recipe which was terrific.  Green beans with a mint vinaigrette, toasted walnuts and dried cranberries.  The recipe called for dried sour cherries, but I couldn’t find any.   The crisp beans and tangy vinaigrette provided a nice counterpoint to all of the other rich food.  We made a yummy wild mushroom stuffing using three local varieties of mushrooms, and I made the Potatoes Anna.  This turned out to be a challenge because Potatoes Anna works best when you make it in a cast iron skillet—kind of like Tarte Tatin.  We only have a large, straight-sided cast iron pot.  So I made it in that, but then it was very tricky to get it out.  We flipped it, and then I had to bang on the bottom with a hammer to release it.  Pretty good, all things considered.  And the Ocean Spray cranberry sauce?  Not as bad as I thought it might be, although I prefer it more tart, less sweet.

While everything else moved along, Alec and I played a running game of Scrabble.  I bought the iPad app a couple of weeks ago, figuring it would come in handy on a rainy day or a long plane ride.  Then, when Milo and I were waiting, and waiting, for his test results at the clinic last week, he asked to watch me play it.   So I did, and quickly became addicted.  I challenged Alec to a game that night.  He acted as though he was indulging me by saying yes, but he is clearly hooked.  He is a fierce competitor, and takes no prisoners when it comes to grabbing those triple word tiles. Last night we were passing the iPad back and forth in bed until I got too tired and had to turn out the lights.  I’ll bet you didn’t have so much fun on your Saturday night.

When we sat down to eat, C.C. said it didn’t feel like Thanksgiving because we don’t have our whole families here.  She’s right, but we also reminded her that the holiday is about being grateful for what we do have, rather than focusing on what’s missing.  So what are we grateful for?  For having the kinds of jobs that allow us to be here for the year.  For toys.  For the big pumpkin that still decorates our table.  And for having the ability to grow and learn about ourselves, and to be able to see ourselves reflected in another culture.

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