Gunternation

We ate this amazing platter of mussels, clams and razor clams, along with a pile of pimientos de Padrón and a bottle of wine, in Santiago de Compostela at an outdoor cafe. Our server even brought us a glass of Orujo, a traditional Galician liquor, to end our feast with. Spain is a whole lot of Awesome!

To combat the Winter/Software Testing doldrums, I am implementing a Week of Something Awesome.

Something Awesome Day 1: Lunch in Lugo

Last June in Lugo, Spain, Bill and I happened upon a festival celebrating the Roman history of this Galician city which has the only fully intact Roman walls in the world, forming a circle over a mile (2117 m) in circumference around old town. After a snack of empanada (the Galician variety which is baked like a large pie) we found a huge grill covered in ribs. We snagged a table and obtained the following items.

• A bottle of white wine with shallow pottery bowls to drink it from
• Ribs
• pulpo a feira–boiled octopus sprinkled with Pimentón (paprika) and olive oil, a traditional Galician dish
• Padrón peppers–another Galician specialty, these green peppers are fried and sprinkled with salt

The Padrón peppers popped into my mind tonight as I was pondering Awesome. We loved the simple preparation that highlights the earthy combination of mild spice and salt. We ordered them at every opportunity on our trip. I didn’t like Galician octopus as much as I did Barcelonian Squid, although I would eat it again if given the opportunity. The ribs were as close to BBQ as we’ve found this side of the Atlantic. Gnawing on bones,  quaffing wine, surrounded by folks in Roman garb of togas, animal skins, and gladiator armor, we were having a feast indeed.

I’ve decided that having a bottle of wine at lunch is one of my favorite markers that we are truly on holiday.

I took a half day off work Thursday. This is what happened.

It’s 3:30 and I’m sitting in Stephen’s Green. I left work at 12:30 and had a long lunch with friends. A two-hour lunch to celebrate a birthday. A lunch that included wine and dessert. Afterwards my friends returned to work and I walked down some leafy streets I had never walked down, near my office. I took pictures of churches and bought a Diet Coke at a narrow SPAR. I got a cold one from the back of the case.

I walked up Camden Street and checked in Listons for some smoked duck Bill had told me about. They didn’t have the duck, so I didn’t buy anything even though Listons is full of lovely food. I like to buy lunch there. They frequently play music I would consider “Austiny.” (Austiny=Lucinda Williams.) At the Fresh market I cut across to Harcourt Street on my way to the green. I noticed a beleaguered woman in a sundress and impractical sandals pulling a suitcase. She noticed me and asked if she were going the right direction for the Harcourt Hotel. “Someone told me it was this way,” she said in her English accent. I didn’t know the Harcourt Hotel, “but you are on Harcourt Street,” I said. “That’s a good sign.” I made sure to say Harcourt Street because residents of the UK and Ireland get annoyed when Americans leave off Street and Road and Lane. I’ve walked along Harcourt several times and don’t remember the Harcourt Hotel, but there are plenty of buildings, at least 65% of which could conceivably house hotel lodgings.

The green is full of people walking and sitting and lounging upon the grass. I find a bench looking out on the central section with fountains and formal flower beds and pull out a Paris Review I had bought in Texas but have yet to read. This issue has a section of photographs of beaches. Beaches in Italy and Croatia and the U.S. I think of the beach Bill and I visited last month in Spain. We had been driving North from Portedeume to Cedeira. As we passed through Valdoviño, Bill said, “Quick, check the book, there’s something here.” I flipped through the Lonely Planet and exclaimed “Praia Da Frouxeira! A beach!” We whipped our heads to the left and spied a patch of brilliant blue rimmed with white foam and sand. “Holy Crap!” we cried and Bill turned the car around.

The sand was soft and not hot like the Gulf white sand. Gulf white sand is almost molten. We walked along the edge of the water which was yelping cold. A few people were in the water, mostly children. Water temperature is of little concern to a frolicking child. There were also a couple guys para-surfing–they were wearing wet suits. We walked toward the rocky part of the beach and climbed up on a dune. We plopped down and sat for a while, looking at the auqamarine water and listening to the waves.

I love the sound of the waves and looking out at the expanse of water. One photo in the Paris Review is a centerfold panorama of Coney Island. The beach and water are packed with people and beach umbrellas. It looks like candy sprinkles on a giant cupcake. I don’t like busy beaches. I like quiet ones where you can hear the waves. Like in Valdoviño and Anna Maria Island, Florida.

I like sitting in the green as well. This afternoon is full of sunny spells. I’m wearing a celery-colored cardigan with three-quarter length sleeve, trimmed with a small ruffle. I’m also wearing a light scarf. I chuckle to myself about wearing a scarf on July 15–the height of summer. Between the sunny spells a chilly wind blows at my back and brings a few drops of rain. Sometimes the rain doesn’t wait for the sun to quit shining. The wind blows cold against my lower back because I’m wearing the ass crack jeans I accidentally bought in Texas. Well, I was intentional at the point of purchase, but I didn’t realize they would stretch easily and fall below my hips. Sometimes you can be in full possession of your faculties at the time of the transaction, but not be truly aware of what you are transacting.

I consider staying in the green all afternoon reading the Paris Review, but I had intended to do a bit of shopping, so after a while I’ll walk through the green toward the shops. Later Bill will meet me for dinner and as I’m telling him about my day he’ll look up the Harcourt Hotel on his phone. It is just a little ways up Harcourt Street, and I’ll be confident the woman in the sundress had found her accommodation.

It’s been three months since our trip to Southern Spain. Years ago, three months wouldn’t be an unreasonable amount of time to wait for a written account of travels on The Continent, but in these times it’s an almost unforgivable expanse. So imagine you’re reading these words on onion skin air mail stationery and dreaming of the next time you’ll hear my voice.

Spain has been a wonderful surprise for Bill and me. Back in the era before I traveled Europe freely, Spain was not on the short list of places I intended to visit if I ever lucked into 10 days across the sea. But this season, generous with sights and sounds and flavors, has taken us beyond all expectations, and now we know–we love Spain.

We’re particularly drawn to the balance between food and drink embodied by the tapa. Little bites to accompany refreshing beverages. Compared to Ireland which, I’m afraid, loves its drink more than its food, Spain seems to love them equally, and better yet, doesn’t ask you to choose.

I’ve already described some of the wonderful flavors we encountered in Granada, and we continued to eat well in Malaga. Our first night we wandered the entwined streets looking for seafood. Not a difficult hunt, we quickly found some calamari, fried shrimp and manchego.

Tuesday morning we had breakfast at Cafe Moka, adjacent to our hotel–cafe con leche and pitufo (small) sandwiches. I had sobrassada and cheese and Bill had Spanish tortilla (tortilla de patatas).

We then visited a market full of veggies and fruit and cured meat. We kept seeing bowls of orange goo labeled Lomo en Manteca–we would find out later what it was. We picked up a few snacks–skewers of marinated anchovies, pickled onions, olive and pickle (loved these in Barcelona), and some empanadas. We enjoyed these later on our balcony.

Later we walked down to the beach for lunch. We had some gazpacho–gazpacho originated in Andalusia–and I ordered grilled squid. I had been profoundly changed by the grilled squid I had in Barcelona; the grilled squid I had here was a bit bigger and filled with goo, but the non-goo parts where tasty and I could watch a guy stick the squid on the end of a pole and grill it over charcoal, so that was cool. We also had some tortillitas and Bill had gambas al pil pil (spicy shrimp).

After lunch we waded a bit in the Mediterranean and relaxed on the sand. We returned to our hotel for siesta–the air had been turned on and we napped in cool comfort. That evening we started dinner at Gorki, a wine bar which is a chain, but seemingly popular with the locals. We wrote some postcards and ate jamon iberica and a wonderful salad with blue cheese and wilted leeks.

Our next stage of dinner was at La Rabana where we dined on figs and more jamon iberica (it’s so great!), a black pudding sandwich, and yes, Lomo en Manteca! Pork in lard–delicious!

Spain had been so kind to us with its gentle sun, fragrant orange blossoms, and marvelous flavors. We were really reluctant to leave and wished we had planned to stay for the whole week. I knew we’d be glad to have the days for a later trip (for oh, say, Slovenia), but it was hard to leave.

Wednesday morning we returned to Cafe Moka for a bittersweet cafe con leche and more of the amazing tortilla pitufo. Click here for more food pics.

And we did do a few things between meals, other than siesta. Click here for more scenes from Malaga.

Scenes from our bus trip as we traveled from Granada to Malaga on May 4.