Catalan Food Coma

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 5

I checked the New York Times website when I got up yesterday morning, as I often do, and learned of the ferocious storm that had hit New York City.  A tornado?!?  How odd.  At that very moment a wall-shaking thunderclap sounded and the living room was lit up by the glow of the lightning that followed.  Suddenly I felt as though my two homes were strangely aligned; parallel universes perhaps.

It is the first rain we´ve had since we got here, unless you count the downpour in which we got stuck when we were hiking in the Pyrenees.  Normally heavy morning traffic slows to a crawl, if this first experience is any indication of what happens in Barcelona when it rains.  My rainboots and slicker have not yet arrived from New York City—any day now, they tell us—so I donned my platform sandals in order to raise myself as high as possible from the puddles.  It worked, sort of.

Once I got to my office I found myself a comfortable chair in the Open Source Room, which is furnished with couches and good reading lamps, and a coffee makers.  And then… I started to read a book.  This may not seem like such a big deal to you, but it is one of the first intellectual books I have read in many months.  I have started some, skimmed others.  But this one I intend to finish.  Sharon Zukin´s The Naked City: The death and life of authentic urban places, which is about the transformation of New York City over the past few decades, and it has an interesting resonance in Barcelona, which has a real air of authenticity about it but also shows indications of threat by gentrification.  You can see the Mediterranean from this particular room—it is beyond the urban landscape, but it´s there.  And for me the sea is life-giving, so I like to put myself within its range whenever I can.

I have a colleague in New York who once told me that when he was on sabbatical after a particularly gruelling turn in administration, he put himself on a schedule to train himself how to read again.  I am so accustomed to moving quickly from meeting to meeting, to reading many things at once, that my attention span has diminished.  I revel in the opportunity to read for long stretches, but I am not sure I remember how to do it.  So it was a good idea for me to move away from my computer screen and phone, and isolate myself with the printed word.

At lunch with Alec and a colleague I ordered the merluza, a sweet, flaky white fish.  It came not only whole, but presented in such a way that it was curved into a circle, it´s mouth open and positioned to chomp on its tail.  This was unfortunate for me, and also seemed ignominious position for the fish who, at that point, could do nothing about it.  Once I convinced myself that he was not giving me the evil eye, it was quite good.

After a brief respite from the rain, it poured again in the evening, right when we headed out the door to go to dinner with Doc.  We ate at Cinc Sentits, which means Five Senses in Spanish.  You have to get one of two tasting menus there, and we all had the Menu Essencia—6 courses—rather than the 8 course Menu Sensacions.  The chef uses only ingredients he can get in the market, and cooks a lot of things sous vide, a technique where the food is sealed—often with juices and spices—into a plastic sack and cooked in warm water for a very long time at a very low temperature.  The method has been a bit controversial because some believe that the food can’t be safe unless it’s cooked at a higher temperature.  But let me tell you, the results were outrageous.  Very tender and highly flavoured meats, like my pork belly that had been cooked for 12 hours and melted in my mouth.  What else did we have—squid and beef albondigas with romesco sauce and squid ink foam; Crema catalana flavoured ice cream bathed in cold, creamy citrus soup.  And a little plate of sweet delectables at the very end, one of which looked just like a sunny side up egg on a spoon.  You put the whole thing in your mouth and suddenly got a burst of passion fruit and white chocolate.  Amazing, and I don’t even like white chocolate. 

It was a memorable meal, although I have to say I think I’m getting too old for these multi-course tasting menus, especially when you don’t start eating until 9:30 at night.  After 4 or 5 courses I begin to feel like I’m saturated with richness.  The courses are small, so it’s not really the quantity of food, but rather the practice of boiling down a bushel full of mushrooms to get a thimble full of sauce.  I had to go straight to bed when we got home, even though I felt too full to sleep. But I did, slipping into a

Catalan food coma until C.C. woke me up to change the batteries in her video camera. She’s been busy, so stay tuned!

www.cincsentits.com

Photo of the Day

Sweet Home Barcelona

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 5

Without really planning to, I continued my sweet tour of Barcelona today.  First, as I walked downtown from the trainstation to the bookstore, I came across another horxateria that looked too good to pass up---stainless steel, white tile, bright green uniforms and writing on the cups and menus.  And the horxata?  Top notch.  Really, really cold, which is as it should be, milky and with a nutty richness.  Horxateria Parlament at Balmes, 130.  They also sell ice cream that looks pretty darn good.

As I continued my walk, I recognized a pasteleria, Casa Vives, that’s in the Sweet Barcelona book, and I realized that I need to bring something to two meals we’ve been invited to this weekend—what better present than chocolate?  I couldn’t resist a tiny macaroon—more French than what we call a macaroon in the States.  A small round, moon pie shaped lovely.  Crispy and almondy on the outside and flecked with fleur de sel, creamy chocolate on the inside.  Yum.  www.casavives.com

And then… well, the kids and I have been talking about making a “Churro Chart.”  Churros and chocolate is a traditional snack in Spain.  Churros are like long skinny donuts, fried and sprinkled with sugar.  They are often served alongside a thick, pudding-like cup of chocolate, into which you dip them.  Anyway, we decided that we should devise our own churro rating system, and try several churrerias to figure out which are the best.  So we had our first tasting to day, at a little place in Gracia.  We decided to use a 1 – 4 rating system, and Milo said he’d give these churros a 2, while C.C. thought they rated a 3.  Me?  1 at best. The churros were already made, and sitting on a counter, so they were cold and kind of chewy.  The chocolate was not bad, but made with powder.  I just don’t think these kids have had enough churros.  We can do better.  And we will.  Stay tuned for the churro chart…

Photo of the Day

Albondigas!

Human Highlighter Suit Tally:  5

If you shop for meat at a traditional market in Spain and your carnivorism ranges across the standard farm animals, like mine does, you don’t just go to the butcher. You go to three different vendors—one for chicken, one for beef and simple pork (chops, tenderloins, etc.), and one for charcuterie, like sausages.  At the Mercat de la Libertat in Gracia, which we have begun to frequent, Mari sells us chicken (and rabbit, which we have not yet tried), Antonio sells beef and pork, and Henrik vends sausages (which he makes from scratch), cured meats such as jamon iberico, cold cuts and cheeses.  We went to the market on Monday morning this week because we had been thwarted on Saturday (see post called “September 11, Barcelona Style). 

After exchanging pleasantries with Mari and ordering three chicken breasts, we asked if they’d keep in the fridge until Thursday.  “Hombre, no,” she began, explaining that, since the market had been closed on Saturday, the meat had been there since Friday; we should cook it that night or freeze it.  It’s rare that you get that kind of honesty and advice from a butcher these days.  Normally I find myself pawing through cellophane-wrapped Styrofoam trays in the grocery store, trying to divine when the meat was packed and whether it’s still safe for consumption.

Albondigas (al-BOHN-dee-gahz) is the Spanish word for meatballs, and it is one of my favorite words in the Spanish language.  It’s not because I’m such a huge meatball fan, and the word “meatball” doesn’t really do it for me.  But the word albondigas just sounds so happy and enthusiastic to me—it begs to be followed by an exclamation point.  Something lifts in my heart when I say albondigas, and I can’t help but smile.

So maybe it’s that I’m in Spain, where meatballs are called albondigas—I don’t know, but this week I just felt like making some.  So I found a recipe, and went to the market for the ground pork, which Antonio’s wife ground fresh for us, and pork sausage, which we purchased from Henrik.  The recipe called for me to remove the sausage from its casing, but since Henrik made his own, he just sold me the sausage mixture, dotted with tiny flecks of truffle, which saved me a step.

The meatballs, succulent little bundles studded with pine nuts, were delicious.  Some of the pine nuts escaped from the albondigas during cooking, but they were none the worse for it.  Cinnamon adds a slightly sweet note, while the sweet pakrika adds a deep depth and the pine nuts lend richness. I served them over rice, in a light tomato sauce, with sautéed zucchini on the side.

The  recipe for the albondigas appears below.  It’s from The New Spanish Table, by Anya Von Bremzen (not a Spanish name, but please do not hold it against her). I do not have her permission to reprint this but I hope that if she ever comes across this blog, she will be grateful that I’ve sung her praises and made even more people aware of her fabulous work. Happy cooking!

Pine-Nut Studded Meatballs (Albondigas con piñones)

1 slice white sandwich bread, crusts removed (I used some leftover brioche)

6 oz. ground pork

4 oz. fresh pork sausage (preferably w/o fennel), casings removed, meat mashed w/a fork

1 tsp. sweet (not smoked) paprika

½ tsp. coarse salt

½ tsp. freshly ground black pepper

½ tsp. dried oregano

1 small pinch cinnamon

1 large garlic clove, crushed w/a garlic press

2 heaping Tbsp. pine nuts

1 large egg

olive oil, for shaping the meatballs

1.     Preheat the oven to 425 degrees

2.     Place the bread in a small bowl, add water to cover, and let soak for 2 – 3 minutes.  Drain, squeezed out the excess liquid, and finely crumble the bread.

3.     Combine bread and all other ingredients except the olive oil in a large bowl.  Gently knead only to combine thoroughly—do not overmix,

4.     Lightly oil your hands w/the olive oil, then shape meat mixture into 1 ¼ inch balls and place on rimmed baking sheet.  Bake the albondigas, shaking the tray once or twice until they are lightly browned and firm to the touch, about 12 minutes.

My batch made 15 meatballs

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Horxateria El Tío Ché

Human Highlighter Suit Tally:  4

My office building sits in a neighborhood consisting largely of big, slick new buildings crowding out old factories and warehouses.  On my ten minute walk from the metro to MetroTIC (the name of the building), there is nothing I find inviting, no store, or restaurant or street that draws me in.  Which leaves me disappointed, because I had hoped for a second base from which to explore the city.  I had pretty much resigned myself to getting in and out as efficiently as possible, and finding other ways to wander and explore.

But today I had lunch with another woman who is spending the year at the Universitat Oberta de Catalunya (UOC); she does pretty interesting work, and has written several books, including one called Women and Bullfighting: Gender, Sex and the Consumption of Tradition that I plan to check out.  Anyway, Sarah and I had lunch on the block and then decided to take a walk—she and her family live not far from the office.  We walked north a few blocks and suddenly found ourselves in Poblenou, a neighborhood with a completely different vibe—it feels very authentic, very Spanish.  We turned right on the Rambla de Poblenou—a rambla is a wide street with a pedestrian median, and is typically an avenue on which people stroll.  Ramblas are often dotted with outdoor cafes—they are a center of neighborhood life.  The most well-known ramblas in Barcelona are the uber-touristy Las Ramblas and the more elegant Rambla Catalunya.  I don’t think many tourists make it to Rambla del Poblenou, which made it all the better to be there.

We walked for a good 10 or 15 minutes until we found ourselves at the end of the street and the beginning of the beach.  People sunbathed, a few swimming in the Mediterranean, and I silently schemed about how I could change into my bathing suit at the office, slip out and go for an afternoon swim.  Mark my words—it’s in my future.

On the way back, I spotted an Horxateria that looked familiar, and then realized I’d seen it pictured in my Sweet Barcelona book.  Sarah had been there and said the Horxata was really good, so we walked up to the service window and ordered some.  The server ladled the white liquid out of a frosty, refrigerated aluminum tank and into our paper cups.  The stuff is really good—icy cold and refreshing, sweet but not cloying.  And it actually tastes like it might be good for you.  I don’t know if these are old wives’ tales or not, but some say that horxata lowers cholesterol (the bad kind) and triglycerides, fights arteriosclerosis and aids in digestion.

Horxata is popular in many Latin American countries—in Mexico and Central America it is called horchata and is usually made with rice but can also be made with sesame seeds, barley or almonds.  Here in Spain, it is “horxata de chufa,” chufas being tiger nuts.  The tiger nuts probably came here from Egypt or the Sudan, where they are used in all kinds of things.  I’ve seen them in the market here, and they are small, hard and wrinkly—kind of  like walnuts in the shell, only the size of raisins. 

To make horxata, you soak the chufas in water for many hours, and then strain them and grind them in a blender with some fresh water.  Strain again, add sugar, chill and serve.

El Tío Ché has been making and serving horxata since 1912.  (They also make granizados (granitas) which I’ll try next).  It’s the perfect drink for strolling the rambla.

www.eltioche.com