Saturday, December 18, 2010

A Catalan Christmas

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 10


I think it’s high time y’all learned about Christmas in Catalunya.  I can tell you about it, but I cannot explain it fully.  Poop plays a pretty big role in the holidays here; in fact, it’s ubiquitous.  First off, it’s quite common to have a crèche as part of one’s holiday decorations, a nativity scene that includes all of the usual suspects—kings, shepherds, wise men, the whole nine.  But here in Catalunya, the scene also contains a special guest—the caganer.  Caganer basically means “pooper” in catalan.  Traditionally, the caganer is a figure of a peasant who crouches, pants down, somewhere in the scene, a big duty right under his butt (all of the traditional caganers I’ve seen are male).  As far as I’ve been able to gather, the caganer brings good luck.  Why poop?  Well, given that the traditional ones are farmers, it has something to do with the cycle of life—eating what comes from the earth and then the waste returning to the earth.

The plaza in front of Barcelona’s town hall is home to a very large crèche—everyone says you have to go and see it.  When John and I went the other day, a tinny version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” warbled from a set of ancient speakers.  In 2005,  controversy about the appropriateness of the caganer caused it to be ousted from the city nativity scene—Barcelona had recently launched a campaign against public defecation and urination, and I guess having the caganer there in the city hall plaza seemed a bit hypocritical.  Many Catalans viewed his removal as an affront to Catalan traditions, and a “Save the Caganer” campaign was launched, resulting in the return of the caganer in 2006.  I walked around the nativity scene in order to find him and, sure enough there he was (see photo below).

John and I walked from the plaza to the Christmas market in front of the cathedral.  Vendors there sell fresh greens and poinsettas, nativity scene components, and crafts.  If you have a crèche at home, you are likely to buy the pieces individually rather than an entire set.  This allows you to pick out the specific Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus, etc. that you want.  And, of course, the caganer.

Entire kiosks in the market sell nothing but caganers, and these days you can buy not only the traditional peasants, but also figurines of famous people assuming the traditional caganer pose.  “Look!” I said to John who, in another lifetime, went to seminary, “you can buy a pooping Pope!”  “Where?” he asked.  “Right between Hilary Clinton and Sarkozy,” I replied, pointing.  He declined.  We found Obama, Spiderman, the Dalai Lama, and several star soccer players.  See the photo of Queen Elizabeth, below; those things that look like chocolate donuts under her butt are poop.

The origins of the caganer, and of the practice of placing him in the nativity scene, are unclear.  Some say it represents fertilization of the earth.  Others say that Jesus is God manifest in human form, and there’s nothing like a little shit to remind us all of our humanity.  Yet another interpretation maintains that it’s about equality—no matter what your race, color, or creed—you poop just like everyone else.

The second important poop-related Christmas tradition is the Caga Tio, which means “poop log.”  These little oddities are logs dressed up with faces and hats (see the display of them at the market, below).   Starting December 8 and until Christmas, the children of the house are supposed to take care of the caga tio, covering it with a blanket each night and giving it something to eat each day.  When you buy one, you also get a stick and, on Christmas Day, the children beat the log with the stick while singing the following song:


caga tió,
caga torró,
avellanes i mató,
si no cagues bé
et daré un cop de bastó.
caga tió!"
poop log,
poop turrón,
hazelnuts and cottage cheese,
if you don't poop well,
I'll hit you with a stick,
poop log!
giving log,
give us treats,
give us sweets!
if you don't want to give,
I'll hit you with a stick,
give it up!

An alternate version goes something like this:

caga tió,
tió de Nadal,
no caguis arengades,
que són massa salades
caga torrons
que són més bons!"
poop log,
log of Christmas,
don't poop herrings,
which are too salty,
poop turrón
which is much better!
log, log,
giving log,
don't give us herrings,
they are too salty,
give us treats,
give us sweets!


The stick-beating is supposed to get the log to poop out presents.  The CT does not poop out large presents (those are brought either by the wise men or by Papa Noel), but rather nuts, candies, sometimes dried figs.  The denouement happens when the Caga Tio poops out a salt herring, a head of garlic, an onion or "urinates".   I guess it’s something like the grand finale at the July 4 fireworks.

Milo checked our Caga Tio this morning just to make sure there weren’t any gifts yet.  There were not.

We asked a Catalan friend about the proliferation of poop here at holidy time; she just shrugged and said, “Well, Catalans are a rather scatological bunch.” In fact, Wikipedia tells us that one popular Catalan phrase before eating says "menja bé, caga fort i no tinguis por a la mort!" (Eat well, shit strong and don't be afraid of death!).  Indeed.

I swear to you that every word of this entry is true; I could not make this up.  And, if you promise to care for and then beat you Caga Tio and sing to it on Christmas Day, I’ll express mail you one so that you don’t miss out on the fun.

PS--the photos below are courtesy of John Green

Photos of the Day




Thursday, December 16, 2010

Good Friends and Persimmons

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 10


Our friend John Green arrived this morning from frozen New York City.  You know someone is a good friend when they have only two nights to spend in Barcelona and they opt to spend one of them going to your children’s holiday concert.  Rumor has it that last year’s concert started way late and ran more than three hours.  But there is a new music teacher this year, and we were promised that it wouldn’t go longer than an hour and a half.  Still, I call this loyalty.

I figured the least I could do is feed him well before and after.  Last night I whipped up a tortilla and my first experiment with the persimmons—some lemon-glazed persimmon bars.  I had also gone to the market to buy a few good cheeses, membrillo and some quality jamon.  A green salad, and dinner prep was done.

Alec’s reaction to my declaration that I intended to embark on a persimmon adventure was less than excited.  His description of the fruit?  Mushy, bland and viscous.  I bought some at the market—they are called palo santos here—but they did not look exactly like the ones I’ve seen in New York.  I did a bit of research and found that there are two kinds of persimmon—fujis and hachiyas.  Fujis are the squat, harder variety that I’d seen before coming here.  Hachiyas have a more elongated shape and thin-skinned; when ripe they seem almost to glow from the inside.  The persimmons I’ve found here are hachiyas.  They are very soft, and very sweet.    When I got mine home, I opened one up and scooped some out—very soft and very sweet.  Not my favorite fruit.

So I searched around for recipes, and found the persimmon bar one on Epicurious, rated four forks.  You scoop out the persimmon pulp and press it through a strainer, then mix it with flour, egg, sugar, clove, cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon, and finely chopped dates and nuts.  After you bake that part and let it cool, you make a simple glaze of lemon juice and zest, and confectioner’s sugar and spread it over the top.  The result?  Really tasty, but the persimmon flavor doesn’t really jump out at you.  The color, combined with the spices and nuts, made Alec think pumpkin more than persimmon.   I’d make them again, but I also want to do some more experimenting while they’re still around.  I’ve passed a few trees that are leafless and heavy with ripe fruit.

And the kids’ concert was lovely—I will post videos and photos soon.  I got C.C. to wear a dress by telling her it was a tunic, just like the ones knights wear.  Milo wore real shoes, not sneakers.  And their renditions of Jingle Bells (Milo) and a Spanish lullaby (C.C.) were really sweet.  John snoozed in the audience, and the concert was over in under an hour, which I think must be some kind of record.  We stopped at Foix—a fabulous bakery in Sarria—on the way home for some baguette, pastry, and a brioche for the morning.  Sat around the table talking and eating for a long time, catching up with a good friend.

Photos of the Day


Persimmons on a tree in France, and at our local market

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Santa comes early

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 10


The first part of our drive to the kids’ school is a long, straight shot up Balmes, to the Avinguda Tibidabo, then a left onto the Ronda de Dalt, from which you get a nice view down to the rest of the city.   Looking out his window this morning, Milo shouted, “Mama!  I see Daddy’s airplane!”  “Really?” I said.  “How do you know it’s his?”  “Because I saw him inside it,” he replied.  Of course.

So Alec arrived back this morning, his suitcase loaded with booty from his trip to New York.  What did he bring back?  Crushed red pepper, aleppo pepper (my sister, Jody got me hooked on it about a year ago and I use it all the time—if you have not tried it, you must), chocolate chips, maple syrup.  Deodorant, my favorite SPF 50 moisturizer that I cannot find here, and the alternatives cost a bloody fortune.  The toy baryonyx and maiosaura (with nest) that C.C. wants for Christmas.  A book on the Mondragon cooperative, and a copy of the Frankie’s Spuntino cookbook (an indulgence, I know, but I could not resist). You’d think we lived in the middle of a desert. 

I was hit by a strange stomach thing yesterday so worked from home all day today, caught up on email, napped, and dove into the new books.  I’ve eaten nothing but brioche toast since yesterday noon, and the everything bagel Alec brought me from New York.  I don’t eat a ton of bagels, even when I’m in New York, but there’s nothing quite like it.  A taste of home.  There is still harissa soup in the fridge, so I think I will test myself with that for dinner.  I’m hungry.

Photo of the Day

Barcelona dresses up for the holidays!

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

PS--Milo's socks

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 10

Note that in Milo's goalie picture, he's wearing his human highlighter socks.  He refused to wear the ones that go with his uniform.  I figured that since he is the goalie, it'd be okay for him to have some distinctive socks.  Pink lives on!