Turrones and Toes

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 10

If you sponsored a contest and asked all of the world’s cities to dress up in their holiday finest, I’m pretty sure Barcelona would win, at least if I had a say in the judging.  The lights are amazing—every main avenue is different, with row after row of colourful decorations strung from one side of the street to each other.  The branches of the trees along the Rambla are individually outlined in white lights.  The Gran Via has lights strung between the street lamps that look like colourful snowflakes, and the Rambla Catalunya has huge white snowflake-y circles. I will have to get out after dark to take some pictures, but in the meantime you will just have to trust me.

Like most places, Barcelona also has its own holiday food traditions.  One of them had me quite confused for awhile.  You may remember that I got hooked on orxata this fall, and I found two authentic places—El Tio Che on Rambla de Poblenou and Sirvent/Parlament on Balmes right near the Provenca FGC stop—that I passed often enough to pretty much guarantee myself a fix whenever I needed it.

Then one day, sometime last month, I headed out for a walk along the Rambla de Poblenou, intent on getting an orxata on the way, and El Tio Che was closed.  Now, finding businesses closed is an every day occurrence in Barcelona.  Many close for the afternoon siesta, but the siesta hours vary from business to business.  I figured that’s what had happened.  The next day, I found myself close enough to Sirvent to make a detour and satisfy my craving.  Also closed.  Within the same week I passed Sirvent a few other times, on different days and at different hours.  Still closed, and no sign outside explaining the situation.  I feared that it had closed for good.

I had given up hope when, one day last week, I noticed that the metal grating of Sirvent had been raised.  I rushed across the street only to find a handwritten sign on the door stating that the store closed from 11:45 – 1:30 every day.  I looked at my watch—noon.  I vowed to return the next day during opening hours and breathed a sigh of relief when I did, and the door yielded to my push.  I walked up to the counter and ordered an orxata—large, to go.  “No hay,” (There isn’t any) replied the counterwoman.  I looked around.  The tubs in the ice cream freezer had been replaced with marrons glaces, sugared almonds and pine nuts.  The counters were piled high with foil-wrapped bricks of chocolate and almonds, a sugary Fort Knox.  But everything else was the same.

“Will the orxata be back?” I asked, worried.

“Si, en abril,” she responded.  In April.  I counted on my fingers—four

It turns out that orxata is a warm weather drink.  Who knew? Even though it is not technically tied to the land as are other foods that are so much better when eaten in season, it has a time nonetheless.  I don’t really like having my access to orxata restricted, but I guess I can respect it.  And it seems that all of the orxaterias transform themselves into turronerias when the weather turns.

Turron is a class of sweets traditionally enjoyed during the holidays.  You can find turron during the rest of the year, just as you can find mass-produced orxata year round in the supermarket, but artisanal turrones are produced only in the winter.  And they are the best. Yesterday, our new friends Alex and Monica brought two kinds of turron from Sirvent to our house for dessert—they live only a couple of blocks away from the shop.  The “xixona” variety is my favorite—it’s like luxury crunchy almond butter, but sweeter and more dense.  It comes in a soft brick, and you slice it with a butter knife.  “Alicante” is harder and more brittle, and has larger chunks of almond inside.  You bang it with something hard to break off bite-sized pieces.  I prefer xixona, but honestly I like them both.

This morning I stopped off at Sirvent to pick up some turrones to bring to Myron and Raquel in Vigo for Christmas.  Then I walked to Via Laietana to meet Isabel, the foot analyst I met at the Barcelona Women’s Network morning coffee hour.  She had asked to practice on me.  I am trying to use my time here in Barcelona to be more open to new experiences, and I figured getting my feet analyzed definitely fit into that basket.  Isabel studies something called the Grinberg method, a form of alternative body work in which the practitioner “reads” the client’s feet.  If felt a little bit like palmistry, only more clinical and lower down.

The space in which Isabel practices is quiet and bright and looks out onto the awesome Music Palace.  After exchanging the usual pleasantries, she asked me to take off my socks and shoes and to hop up on the examining table.  I did, apologizing for the sorry state of my feet.  On a good day, my heels are cracked and dry, my toes calloused.  But it’s also been nearly two months since my last pedicure—no one should have to be touching my tootsies.  At least they were clean.

Isabel started with my right foot—my active foot, since I’m right handed.  She felt the callouses, explored the lines, furrowed her brow and started to ask me questions.  Some of them were right on:  “Are you quite tight in your hips?”  “Do you tend to be very driven and need to get things done?”  Others, less so:  “Do you lose your temper easily?”  Mostly, I thought her questions and ideas were quite accurate.  At the end of the reading, she worked on my feet and I felt deeply relaxed.  Maybe it just felt good to lie down.  Or maybe Grinberg, and Isabel, are on to something.