Saturday, February 5, 2011

Bar Pinotxo



After a long week of Spanish classes—20 hours, to be exact—I figured I deserved a reward.  So I took myself to Bar Pinotxo at the Boqueria for some lunch after class yesterday.  The Boqueria is the mother of all markets in Barcelona, and it is always full of tourists, locals doing their household shopping, and chefs buying supplies for their restaurants.  While most markets have one or two stands where you can sit down and have a bite to eat, the Boqueria has many.  And Pinotxo is the best.  Juan, the old man working the counter, treats you with great care whether you are a regular or a one-time visitor.  He wears a powder pink and baby blue vest with his name embroidered on it.  In the early morning, you’ll find his counter full of vendors who have been up for hours, eating razor clams and washing them down with a beer.

I ordered some sautéed baby squid with beans, a few jamon croquetas, and berberechos (very small clams) steamed and drizzled with olive oil—I have never eaten such juicy clams—and I washed it all down with a glass of fruity red wine.  I read an article about Slow Cities, a new interest of mine.  The future perfect tense, which had made my head throb for the last two hours of class, faded into background.  Then I took myself for a walk around the Raval.  I got a new, very fun guide book this week put out by Le Cool, an online magazine that posts events, places to eat, and stores that are off the beaten track.  I went to an herborista that mixes up teas and other potions and bought some tea to drink before I go to bed.  I popped in to CCCB, the younger, hipper relation to MACBA (the contemporary art museum).  Overall, a good day in Barcelona, even with the future perfect.

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Friday, February 4, 2011

Back to My Fighting Weight


The other day my sister, Leslie, told me she loves reading about all of the food we are cooking and eating here, but she wonders if I’ve turned into Two Ton Tessie.  She has not seen me since July and, now that I think about it, there have not been too many pictures of me on the blog recently.

So here’s the story.  Those of you who spent time with me as the day or our departure for Spain approached know that I did not exactly march into Barcelona triumphantly, pumping my arms over my head.  The truth is that I limped slowly into town.  I had been working double time until only a few days before we left, as well as packing up the house, organizing and renting our beach house, dealing with visas, health and school records, and all of the other gazillion things it takes to move a family to another country.  I was exhausted, scrawny, anxious, and drained. 

Anyone who knows me knows that I never miss a meal—seriously, I cannot remember the last day that I had fewer than three meals—and that I can put away the food.  I have a healthy appetite.  Fortunately, I have also been blessed with a good metabolism, and I like to exercise, so I’ve never had to worry much about my weight.  But all of that tension and stress caused me to lose weight even though I continued to eat.  I figured once I got to Barcelona, that would change—I would be trying all kinds of new food, and it would take care of itself.  But it didn’t, at least until now.  I think the nine days straight of cannolis, gelato and pasta in Sicily tipped the scales for me, and I am now back at my fighting weight.

I am not one of those people who believes that a woman can never be too rich or too thin.  Rather, I believe in the set point theory about weight.  We each have a weight that is right for us, that our bodies gravitate to.  When we are eating reasonably well and exercising often enough, that’s the weight around which our bodies settle.  So even though I was hardly dangerously thin, my body didn’t feel right to me.  I knew that I was off balance.  So I made sure to eat three squares plus snacks and dessert, saw the acupuncturist, Ferran, and vowed to get healthy again.  You know you are in Spain when your acupuncturist tells you to eat more jamon; that just doesn’t happen in northern California.  Actually, I think he was right—I did need to eat more jamon.  And I have.

So now that I’m mostly back in balance, I suppose I have to make sure I don’t go overboard and get lazy.  I have sometimes fantasized about quitting academia in order to open a shack that serves homemade donuts in the morning and lobster rolls for lunch.  I’d call it “Big Lisa’s”  and I would wear overalls everyday so as not to have any kind of waistband digging into me.  But I’m not quite ready for that.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Making Friends


We get our mail from New York sent in batches by our tenants.  Like most people’s mail these days, it’s a mix of bills, statements and pleas for money.  The holidays are the one exception, the one time of year when the mailbox is flooded with photos of friends’ children and annual holiday letters.  For most of you, the holiday card season is a distant memory, but not for us.  Our last batch from Brooklyn included several, and we received what I’ll bet is our last card yesterday from our friends Darryl and Matt—they actually sent it to us here in Spain, but used the wrong post code, so it took a long time to arrive.  I am frankly surprised it got here at all.  This year, the cards have meant more than ever, a line of connection stretching across the sea.  And I am grateful that the stream of cards has lasted as long as it has. 

The time difference—six hours to the east coast, nine to the west—makes it difficult to stay in touch with folks by phone. We schedule a couple of skype calls on weekends when we are home, but spontaneous phone calls are simply not feasible.  No one writes letters anymore—except at the holidays.  So email has taken on new importance.  I love hearing from folks back home.  For me, it brings my familiar self momentarily into sharp relief—for a minute or two I remember that I am known. 

I am making friends here, slowly, but so far have not been lucky enough to find that spark of connection.  It’s a lot like dating, I’ve found.  A lot of effort, a lot of reaching out, some bad dates, some fun times, but no soulmates yet.   I have known my closest friends for so long that I can hardly remember the initial stages of friendship.  I do remember enough to know that it does not happen overnight, that it takes time and shared experiences to peel back enough layers.  Whether we are here long enough to get there with anyone remains to be seen. 

During the first weeks of the kids’ school, I remember picking them up and asking them, “Did you make any friends today?”  For awhile they would say, “I played with Tristan, or Daniela, but I don’t know if we’re friends.”  At the time I thought it was odd—don’t kids make friends immediately?  But now I get it.  Spending time with someone is not the same as being friends.  Funnily enough, the kids do have friends now, but even they miss the more longstanding connections to their buddies back home.  One day C.C. complained about not having anyone to play with at recess.  “At PS 10,” she said, “Elliott would always play with me, no matter what.  She’s my real friend.”  I know what she means.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Thoughts from the Midpoint


We have now been in Barcelona for six months, give or take a few days, and have six months, more or less, before we return to Brooklyn.  So I’ve been thinking a lot this week about what I’ve learned, how the experience has changed me, what I hope to keep with me when I do return.

The following are things I have learned, or that this experience has reaffirmed for me. 

1.     Adjusting to a new culture takes a long time, no matter how much you want to be there.  I thought the transition for the kids would be seamless, and that it would take me weeks, not months, to feel grounded.  It was harder than I expected and harder than I wanted it to be, even with all of the wonderful parts.

2.     Everything goes a lot more smoothly when I get at least seven hours of sleep.

3.     I enjoy spending time with my family—and have spent much more time with my husband and kids in this last year than perhaps any previous year.  But if I did not have meaningful work, I would slowly go crazy.  I can sacrifice a lot, but I need to keep the inquisitive, problem-solving, adult thinking part of my brain well-lubricated.

4.     Cooking centers me, and sharing food is my favorite way to spend time with family and friends.  It feels basic, connected, important.

5.     It’s okay to travel to a new city and spend more time in food markets than in museums.  Ditto for sleeping in, or taking a nap midday instead of visiting one more cathedral.  It is a huge relief to travel how I want to travel instead of how I think I should travel.

6.     24/7 access to email may not be the tool of the oppressor (or maybe it is), but it is definitely overrated.  For me, it produces more stress than efficiency.  I am happier and more productive without my crackberrry, and when I move away from the computer to read and write.

7.     Living without a clothes dryer is just not such a big deal.  Hanging clothes out on the line does not take that long, and it is the single most significant thing you can do to decrease your carbon footprint.  Those curly lightbulbs are cute but in the end, they don’t do a helluva lot.

8.     I do miss my bigger fridge and basement freezer.  I like cooking big pots of things and freezing food for later.  We can’t really do that here.

9.     If you need to feel humbled, learn a new language.

10. Listen to your body, and do what it tells you to do.  Rest is underrated.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Pork and Pistachios


As it turns out, the pork from the pig’s neck was just fine, but I did not get enough of it.  I read Alec’s handwriting on the list wrong, so we had to go back to the market after Milo’s Saturday morning soccer game, and dropping the kids off at a play date.  Is it ever possible to shop just once for a dinner party?  The other problem with my shopping expedition from the previous day was that the fava beans I’d bought were very small.  Never having been the fava bean sheller myself, I didn’t notice.  I had gotten them in containers, taken out of the pod.  But you still have to slip their shells off once you boil them.  Alec worried that it would take hours, since we needed four cups of them.  The market was jammed, and a wandering group of musicians featuring a couple of bagpipe players amped up the volume, so I was glad we did not have to spend much time there. 

We went home and used our precious kid-free hours prepping.  I made the frosting for the cake—buttercream like I’ve never made it before.  You start out cooking sugar, a little flour, milk and cream on the stove until it thickens, then whip it around in the Kitchen Aid for nearly 10 minutes, until it cools.  It doesn’t look like much at this point, but then you add the butter, beat it some more, and it transforms into this fluffy, light, perfect frosting.  So that was satisfying.  Baking really is chemistry, and I love it when everything works out the way it’s supposed to.  The cake looked great.

Meanwhile, Alec cooked the fava beans and I helped him shell them.  It seemed as though we just kept shelling and shelling, but the pile didn’t seem to get any smaller.  We had decided to make a Gypsy Pork Stew, and the recipe also called for artichokes.  I usually pass by recipes that call for fresh artichokes, because I’ve always been intimidated by hacking through the leaves and getting to the good stuff.  Alec did it, and it was something of a butcher job.  It seemed that we should have more left to put in the stew; he probably chopped away too much, but we had what we had.  The stew also included potatoes, chopped jamon, saffron, paprika, and tomatoes.  The whole thing gets topped with chopped fresh mint.

It was a rainy night—cold for Barcelona—and it felt right to cook up a warm stew.  We also made a frisee salad with a burnt garlic dressing and—more pork—chorizo.  When I stop to think about it, it’s really amazing how much pork I’m eating here.  Both the salad and stew recipes are from the New Spanish Table, and both are delicious.

I made some cava sangria for when folks arrived, we had a lovely goat brie, and everyone seemed to have a good time.  The cake rocked.  I passed around a bowl of strawberries, which are growing somewhere nearby, and went well with the nuts and buttercream.

Once we got everything cleaned up and got to bed, I started to feel rotten—head ache and queasy.  I thought I might be sick, but finally just fell asleep.  Milo woke up in the morning feeling the same way, and has spent the day throwing up.  I had tickets to see the Magic Flute—in Catalan—with the kids and one of C.C.’s school buddies and her mom.  And then we were to go to have lunch with some friends.  But it seemed Milo and I should stay home.  So Alec, who had had zero interest in seeing the Magic Flute, went with the girls. 

Here’s the recipe for the Pistachio Cake with Honey Vanilla Buttercream, which comes from the Baked Explorations cookbook.  It’s a fair amount of work, but not difficult, and everyone loved it.  I made it in 2 nine-inch pans instead of 3 eight-inch ones.  It’s also impossible to find cake flour here, so I used the following method—for each cup of regular flour, take out 2 Tbsp and add in 2 Tbsp corn starch.

Pistachio Cake with Honey Vanilla Buttercream

Servings: Serves 12–16
Ingredients
Cake:
·      1 1/3 cups shelled pistachios
·      2 1/2 cups cake flour (not self-rising)
·      3/4 cup all-purpose flour
·      1 Tbsp. baking powder
·      1 tsp. salt
·      1/2 tsp. baking soda
·      8 Tbsp. (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
·      1/2 cup vegetable shortening
·      1 3/4 cups sugar
·      1 Tbsp. vanilla extract
·      2 large eggs , at room temperature
·      1 1/2 cups ice cold water
·      3 large egg whites , at room temperature
·      1/4 tsp. cream of tartar

Buttercream:
·      1 1/2 cups sugar
·      1/2 cup all-purpose flour
·      1 1/2 cups whole milk
·      1/3 cup heavy cream
·      24 Tbsp. (3 sticks) unsalted butter , softened
·      3 Tbsp. honey
·      1 tsp. vanilla extract

Directions

To make cake: Preheat oven to 325°. Spread pistachios on rimmed baking sheet. Bake 8 minutes, until lightly toasted. Let cool.

Grease 3 (8" x 2") round cake pans with butter or cooking spray. Line bottoms with parchment paper. Grease paper and dust pans with flour, tapping out excess.

In a food processor, pulse 1/3 cup pistachios until chopped. Remove and set aside for garnish. Pulse remaining 1 cup pistachios until chopped; remove 2 tablespoons and set aside in a medium bowl. Process remaining pistachios just until finely ground to a powder. Sift cake flour, all-purpose flour, baking powder, salt, and baking soda into the bowl with the 2 tablespoons chopped pistachios. Stir in pistachio powder.

In a stand mixer with paddle attachment, beat butter and shortening on medium speed until creamy, scraping bowl, about 1 minute. Add 1 1/2 cups sugar and vanilla and beat until light and fluffy, about 4 minutes, scraping bowl occasionally. With mixer on low speed, beat in eggs one at a time until well blended. Beat in flour mixture, in 3 additions, alternating with the cold water, beginning and ending with flour mixture. Beat until blended, scraping bowl; then beat batter 15 more seconds. Scrape into a large bowl.

In a stand mixer with whisk attachment (and a clean bowl), beat egg whites and cream of tartar on medium speed until foamy. With mixer on medium-high speed, add remaining 1/4 cup sugar and beat just until soft peaks form; do not over beat. With a large rubber spatula, gently fold whites into batter just until no white streaks remain. Divide batter between prepared pans and gently spread evenly. Stagger pans on oven racks so pans are not directly above one another. Bake 35 to 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in center of cakes comes out clean. Transfer pans to wire racks and let cool 20 minutes. Run a knife around sides and turn cakes out onto racks. Remove parchment paper. Flip cakes again and let cool completely.

To make buttercream: In a heavy, medium saucepan, whisk sugar and flour until well blended. Add milk and cream and whisk until smooth. Set pan over medium heat and cook, stirring constantly with a heatproof rubber spatula, until mixture thickens and comes to a boil, about 12 minutes. Reduce heat to low and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Pour into a bowl and let cool completely, about 1 hour.

In a stand mixer with paddle attachment, beat butter on medium speed until fluffy. Gradually beat in cream-flour mixture, about 1/3 cup at a time, beating until blended with butter. Beat on medium-high speed until fluffy and smooth, about 1 minute. Beat in honey and vanilla. Refrigerate until buttercream holds its shape and is thick enough to spread, about 20 minutes.

To assemble cake: Place 1 cake layer on a cake stand or serving plate. Spread top with 1 cup buttercream. Repeat with another cake layer and 1 cup buttercream. Add last cake layer, top-side up. Spread sides and top of cake with about 3/4 cup buttercream to crumb coat. Refrigerate 15 minutes. Frost with remaining buttercream. Garnish cake with reserved chopped pistachios. Refrigerate at least 15 minutes before serving; cake can be refrigerated up to 3 days. If cake is refrigerated for more than 15 minutes, let stand at room temperature for about 1 hour before serving.

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