A Few Days in Madrid

Sometimes the beauty of Madrid is higher up.

Nice Knockers 

The doors aren't bad either.

Ok, lesson number 1.  You’re not going to see all of Madrid in a few days. Put a cap on that bottle right now.  Matter of fact, you can live there a few years and only get a tasty swallow of this wonderful city.

Lesson number 2. Shrug off the shame of well-traveled friends asking if you saw (fill in the blank) or ate at (fill in another blank).  There are thousands of restaurants and thousands of things to see and do in Madrid and you missed their favorites???

Seeing a big Spanish city in a few days is like becoming fluent in Castilian in a few days.  So, relax.  Ain’t gonna happen.

Let me be bold and arrogant enough to suggest how you can make your few days memorable.  Madrid has a wonderful Metro system, and an equally fantastic bus system.  Whenever possible, don’t use them.  Walk.  Feast on the sounds of the city, the serendipity of seeing a sidewalk café and stopping for a leisurely wine or beer, or coffee, or cola.  Strike up a conversation with the natives, many of whom speak at least a smattering of Anglo.  Get off the main streets. Smile a lot.

Did you miss the post on Tascas in Madrid?  One click will fill in the gaps.

http://stroudallover.blogspot.de/2017/06/dazzle-me-with-evening-of-tapas-in.html

“So, that’s wonderful,” I hear you saying, with a great deal of righteous indignation.  “I’m only here a few days and I’m wasting them drinking beer?”

You have a point. Ok, let’s pick out some destinations, some aiming points. You can eat and drink along the way.  Of course, there’s the world famous El Prado art museum and down the street is the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía that houses one of the most famous paintings of the 20^th Century, Picasso’s Guernica.   By the way, it’s pronounced Gar (as in Gary)-KNEE-ka.  As you probably know, Guernica is Pablo Picasso’s raw, emotional portrait of the horror that is war, in this case inflicted by Germany and Italy during the Spanish Civil War.  However, it’s good to keep in mind two things.  The first is that Picasso did not paint the town itself, but the emotional representation of having the town bombed.  Secondly, in any civil war, there’s always enough cruelty around for both sides to have a heaping share. 

Besides the painting itself, the museum displays all the preliminary sketches and partial paintings the artist did as he found his way toward the finished masterpiece.

Another tidbit.  He didn’t think this was his greatest painting.  What was?  Surely you don’t expect me to give you the answer and spoil the fun.

So, anyway, you’ve gotten your fill of Goya and Velazquez and so much more in the Prado.  On your stroll to Guernica, please stop right before you get there and have a cooling drink in a little hole in the wall restaurant right next door to Queen Sofia’s Art Central.  Take it from me, even when you’re right on top of the museum, you’ll need to stop and ask directions.  This garden of delight is the perfect spot to do it.  Looks like just a gate in a high wall.   Instead, you’ll find a paradise of tranquility so beguiling you’ll end up spending an hour.

One final note about El Prado.  Don’t rush.  Remember so many of those paintings from your art history class are right here and they’re more vibrantly powerful in person.  You can rent an audio guide that explains each painting.  Lots of ushers around to point you in the direction of your favorites.

 

Plaza Mayor

Another major destination:  Plaza Mayor.  Only need to remember a few things.  Lots of Toscas and memorable restaurants in and surrounding the Plaza.  That big man on a horse near the center is Philip III, the king who did most of the planning and building of this wondrous plaza.  Overlooking the rectangular plaza are four sides of apartments and shops. The center is strewn with sidewalk cafés,  in great contrast to the autos-da-fé, which took place here in the 16^th Century.  If you’re not aware of what an auto-da-fé is, I’ll give you a clue.  It’s wasn't beef and pork the inquisitors of the Spanish Inquisition were roasting.

 

Inside Casa Paco

I mentioned notable restaurants.  Casa Paco for perhaps the best steaks in the world.  Served on plates heated to almost 1300ºF (700ºC), the meat is gorgeously roasted on the outside and raw in the middle.  Just slice it as thin as you’d like and let the super-heated plates cook it to your taste.

Don't miss the Fabada Soup

 

Line in front of Botin's

Roast Suckling Pig

Or try the world famous Botin’s, founded in 1725 and made world famous by Ernest Hemingway.  Guinness Book of World Records lists Botin's as the world's oldest restaurant. Gotta have some Conchinillo Asado, roast suckling pig.  Crunchy skin and meat that’s fork tender.

If you’re in town on Sunday, make a trip to El Rastro, Madrid’s famous flea market.  You’ll find everything from expensive antiques, to interesting and affordable objet d’art.  There are also streets lined with stands selling cheap clothes and jewelry.  By-pass those.  Look to the side streets for the treasures.

While you’re at the Rastro, with luck you’ll find a spot for chocolaté y churros.  You may have eaten churros, those crispy cylinders of fired dough, but I’ll wager you haven’t tried cups of Spanish hot chocolate.  It’s so thick and rich it’s almost like pudding.  Go ahead and dip your churros in.  Everybody does.

Never seen a flamenco performance?  An evening in Madrid is the time and place. Fabulous costumes, lots of finger snapping, clacking of heels, and intricately beautiful guitar strumming.

Another Plaza or two.  La Puerta del Sol is just a couple of blocks from Plaza Mayor.  It’s where you’ll find the statue that’s the symbol of Madrid, La Oso y El Madrono, the bear and the strawberry tree.  And never forget La Plaza Santa Ana for wonderful tapas and only a couple of blocks away from La Puerta del Sol.

Gambas al Ajillo

Pimientas de Padron.

 

Royal Palace

View from Café Oriente

Of course you’ll want to visit the Royal Palace in La Plaza Oriente.  While you’re there, look for Café Oriente across the tree-lined plaza and with a beautiful view of the palace.  Take a break.  Have a wine.

Already you’ve used up your few days.  Really?  It’s over so fast?  Hey, time to put another visit on your calendar.  I’ll drink to that!

Dazzle Me with An Evening of Tapas in Madrid

A tinto in one of my favorites, Casa Paco

As my loyal readers (both of you) probably realize, I haven’t written in a while.  I know you’ve scratched your heads and tossed through sleepless nights, but there’s no need to worry.  I’ve been traveling and one of the places I traveled was to a small village of a few million people, nestled in the beating heart of Spain.  Everybody’s  heard about Madrid, the capitol of Spain.  Bullfights, flamenco dancing, Hola! and buenas dias.  Yes, but how about cuisine and quaint customs?

Spanish cuisine is not close to Mexican, or Peruvian, or Argentinian.  Nor is it close to German, or French, or Italian.  But rather than dwell on the broad spectrum, let’s concentrate on one little word you’ve probably heard before: tapas.  Yeah, I know, so-called tapas are so au current they’re served in mall-restaurants all over the U.S.  But, let me tell you, those are not the same tapas you’ll eat in Spain.

 Tapas are to Spain what hors d’oeuvres are to France, an endless variety of little tasty tidbits to accompany an afternoon slosh of beer or wine.  While you swap lies with friends, at a tiny table in an outdoor café, tapas help you keep your strength up.   You order a beverage and the cheery waiter brings you a small dish without you even asking.  Slices of chorizo, or cheese, some olives, or potato chips, a small slice of Spanish tortilla, or even some boiled shrimp.  Then there are more elaborate creations of fish and meat and vegetables, some made into pastes and others more recognizable.

Did I say "waiter" instead of "serving-person-who-could-be-either-sex"?  Yes, I did.  In Spanish drinking establishments, the servers are more than 90% men. I arrived at that statistic after hours and hours of careful research.

Time to stop for a moment and reflect on cuisine and culture.  In Spain, prime dinnertime is 10:30 at night.  Spaniards start off the day with a coffee and perhaps a pastry between 9 and 10 in the morning, often in the same bar they drank in the night before.  Then there’s a break for wine about 11.  Siesta arrives about 1 p.m. and lasts until 3.  Small shops close, and the back streets of Madrid, which are lined with small shops, look almost deserted.  Siesta is more than lunch and a nap.  It’s family time.  Important time.

All of this means when you eat lunch about 2 p.m. and wait until 10:30 p.m. for your next meal, something’s gotta give, which brings us back to tapas.

Tapa time is around 6 p.m. until 8.  You gather …. Wait a sec, where do you gather?  Ok, time for another digression:  Bars are not generally called bars in Spain, they’re called tascas.  Not hard to remember.  You eat tapas in a tasca.  Often you drink and nosh, then move on for another drink.  We call that tasca-hopping.  And in the morning, as I mentioned, they serve coffee and pastries.  So when a youngster tells his teacher, “My momma drops me off at the bus stop and goes to the bar,” he’s not spilling family secrets. it’s a grand idea, as a matter of fact, I…anyway…

Quick Spanish lesson.  Want a draft beer?  Ask for una caña.  How ‘bout a red wine?  Tinto.  White?  Blanco.  All come in a small size.

Tortilla Español

 A couple of paragraphs ago, I mentioned Spanish Tortilla.  So, what’s the diff?  A Mexican tortilla is thin and flat, made from corn, or wheat flour, while a Spanish tortilla is a thick, round omelet, with a filling of sliced potatoes, and large enough to share with a group of your favorite inebriates. Spanish tortillas are often served at room temp.

Now that you’ve got the rules and the lingo down, I’m looking at my watch and think it’s time to don those dark glasses, open the top button on the shirt, roll up the sleeves and hit the streets.  You need a little money, but not too much.  Uno tinto, or una caña will cost you about 1 to 3 Euros, and remember those little plates of tapa are usually free.  Oh, yeah, put that dazzling smile on your face! An evening of tapas in Madrid awaits! 

Don't forget to SUBSCRIBE.  Use the button at the top left of this page!

Kinda Fabada, but better than just kinda good!

One of those nights.  You have Madrid on your mind.  Some luscious fabada Asturiania and a solomillo (filet mignon) at Casa Paco in the heart of old town, near La Plaza Mayor.  The aged building has it’s wide doors wide and is still bursting.  You have to wait elbow to elbow for a table in the tile-lined bar, where the barkeeper, white shirt and black vest,  lines up the little glasses and pours wine from one end of the line to the other.  The talk is flowing all around you.  Hands fly like machetes, punctuating incomplete sentences and stressing particular points. Spanish is a beautiful language that flows like clear water.

You order some Manchego cheese and Serrano ham to pass the time and whet your appetite.  You mention to the barkeep that it’s crowded.  He shrugs his shoulders and gives you a look that means put up or shut up.  You push your glass forward and he sloshes in another round.  “Did you give your name?” he asks and nods toward a lady with a clipboard.

It’s dark outside. You never noticed when the azur sky and melting sun blended into a musty shadow.  Nine-thirty?  The night is young. Almost too early for Madrileños to eat dinner.  Tapas, more wine, an order of chiperones, baby squid, fried and crispy.  Even with all the wine, the acrid whiff of citrus hits you when you squeeze a wedge of fresh lemon.

“Señor?”  The lady with the clipboard lightly taps your elbow.

Spanish bread is dry and airy, ready for unsalted butter so rich it melts with one swipe of the knife.  Your salada comes: lechuga, tomato, tuna, an olive or two, awash in a vinaigrette that’s more vinegar than oil.  They know what they’re doing.  The richly buttered bread sops up the remains.

Then the fabada arrives in a cloud of succulent vapor and you wonder where you’ll ever find room for the solomillo.  You try to pace yourself, without success.  The fabada is heaven’s answer to bean soup.

Ok.  Snap. Snap.  Wake yourself.  You’re not in Madrid at Casa Paco’s.  You’re at home, but still hungry for fabada.  The memory lingers for decades.

But, you don’t have half the ingredients you need.  Pork belly. Saffron.  Pig knuckle.  A pound of dried fava beans. Blood sausage.

What the hell is a hungry hombre going to do?  Ah, friends and neighbors, as you may have suspected, I have an alternative ending to this sad tale.

I call it Kinda Fabada because anyone who has ever hoisted tiny cups of espresso, balloons of Carlos I brandy, and puffed a Habano maduro at three a.m. in a Madrid bistro is going to know the difference.  I’m just saying, you want Kinda Fabada, or NO kinda fabada?

Dry your tears.  You made your choice and you’re going to be happy you did.

Kinda Fabada

3 cans (15.5 oz or 439 g) large butter beans (undrained)

1 onion, chopped fairly fine

3 cloves garlic, chopped fairly fine

1 carrot chopped fairly fine

1 12 inch stick of Spanish or Puerto Rican chorizo, sliced in 1/8 inch rounds

2 tablespoons of olive oil

1 cup chicken broth

 Note:  Nothing wrong with Mexican chorizo, but it’s soft and doesn’t fit this recipe.

Heat the oil in a pot over medium heat.  Add the semi-finely chopped onion and garlic.  Cook until the onions are beginning to turn golden.  Add the undrained cans of butterbeans, the chopped carrots, and the rounds of chorizo.  Cook until the carrots are soft, about ten minutes.  To thin, add the cup of chicken broth and stir.  If the mixture is still too thick, add more, bit by bit.  This is a thick soup and should be soupy but fairly thick when it’s served.

Accompany with buttered toast.

Did I lie to you?  Drag the name fabada through the triviality of plain bean soup, or did your mind wander just a little?  Did you taste a hint of old town Madrid and make a resolution to brush up on that high school Spanish?  Ah, señor, your adventure has just begun.  Fabada now and forever!