Apples at the Powderham Country Park orchards.
And some pokey-sounding cider... They like it strong down here!
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
Sunday, 20 June 2010
For Those That Love to Eat @ Glastonbury
The travels may be over, but I'm not quite back to reality just yet. As of tomorrow, I'll be working at The Rocket Lounge Restaurant in the Shangri-La area of the wonderful Glastonbury festival!
Unsurprising, since the restaurant is the brain child of Chris Gillard, Head Chef at St John, the menu is suitably nose to tail affair, with a few indulgent twists... It will certainly beat the hot dogs and falafels!
Maybe see you there...
As I walked out one mid summer evening
It was three quarters of a century ago that Laurie Lee's epic journey across Spain ended, guided by little more than a sense of adventure and a desire to broaden his horizons. Traveling on foot, he walked from Galicia to Andalusia, through town and country, dessert and mountains, immersing himself deep into what he so evocatively describes as "the firey heart of Spain".
His vivid, captivating account of the journey, As I walked Out One Midsummer Morning, has been a great companion to me on my own Spanish adventure... Rolling into two-horse towns in the middle nowhere, knowing no-one, and having no idea what my time there would bring. Many times I sought reassurance in Lee's beautifully poetic prose as I've virtually re-traced his steps, immortalised in ink on the pages in front of me.
In the passed five months, I've seen this huge and diverse country in many a new light. The gastro-paradise of the Basque Country; the hard, rugged mountains of Asturias; The steep valleys and rolling hills of Galicia; the best of city life, all hip barrios, fancy architecture, and urban beaches; I've found hotbeds of life in some of the country's most out of the way regions; Learnt Spanish by the beach, and walked alone in hectare upon hectare of open farm land, with only the odd cow as company.
I chose Spain for many reasons, but in reality, my over-riding motivation was the Spaniard's national adoration of all things pig, and their production of what in my opinion is the greatest food product in the entire world, jamón iberico.
If I was looking for pigs, well I certainly found them, getting much closer than expected at times. But it's not only the pork products that stand out in the memories of my trip. Repeatedly I've been welcomed into people's lives, treated as family, and experienced first-hand the pursuit of a lifestyle that is so different to what I had been used to, yet so utterly inspiring. The pursuit of a life based on personal interests and passions, following what you believe in, and a commitment to knowing that it is possible to make a difference, even if only your little corner of the world.
And now, inevitably, it is time for my journey to come to end. Like Laurie Lee, the final point in my journey is the coast of Andalusia; He left in midsummer 1935, on the eve of the Spanish Civil War, departing on a British naval gunship, on express despatch from Gibraltar. Meanwhile I'm catching the 22.05 Ryan Air flight to Leeds Bradford International. But hey, times change...
Hasta luego España. Te echaré de menos.
Friday, 18 June 2010
Todo del mundo
There are many idiosyncracies of the Spanish language that I've come to love over the passed five months. The very liberal use of obscenities still makes a smirk slide across my face, whilst their use of 'no' as an affirmative is something I've fully bought into. But there's one turn of phrase that never fails to prick my ears up as being so illustrative of the nations attitudes when it comes to adding grandiosity to a statement, the laissez faire attention to detail, and most importantly, the all-inclusive nature of life here, particularly when it comes to socialising.
Todo del mudo – literally all of the world – is the default expression used to describe instances or situations that lots of people take part in. For example, you might say “a las ocho por la tarde, todo del mundo va a pasear y a tomar aperitivos” - “at eight in the afternoon(!), everyone goes for a stroll and to drink pre-dinner drinks”, or “todo del mundo en los hostales son Americanos” - “everyone in the hostels are American”. It's also very effectively used to describe places where a mix of people can be found, for example, un bar de todo del mundo.
For the last two days I've been staying in La Quinta luxury golf resort, just outside Marbella, Malaga. As nice as it is, I think it's pretty safe to say it's not a todo del mundo kind of place. In fact, I'd go as far as saying it's pijo giri (posh foreigner) kind of place. So when Wednesday came around, bringing Spain's first outing in the World Cup, I decided to head out of the resort in search of what's left of real life on the Costa del Sol.
Thankfully, just down the road is San Pedro. A fairly sleepy working class town, who's occupants fill the various service industry jobs that the resorts, hotels, and leisure complexes that stretch the length of the Costa del Sol necessitate.
After having pootled into town along San Pedro's calle principal, I wrestled the battered old Nissan that I'd borrowed for the day into a tight parking spot just outside the first bar I came to – Bar Manolo. As I edged backwards and forwards in the midday sun, all four windows down, and sweat forming on my brow under the heat and pressure, another car slid up behind me, casually double parking, as if the road itself was one long parking bay. I'm still fairly new to driving abroad, and this is a custom I've yet got used to.
Anyway, if La Quinta is a pijo giri kind of place, Manolo's bar is the exact opposite. Inside, silver-haired old men sat sipping glasses of red wine. Men in work boots stood at the bar with cold San Miguels. A drunk with a big red nose and shaky hands shared shared rounds of tinto de verano (red wine and Fanta limon), with a table full of business men who'd knocked off early for the afternoon. Young mothers sat lined up in a row at a table, as their kids ran around the bar in front of them, dressed head to toe in the Spanish strip, complete with red and yellow head scarfs, and national flags painted on either cheek.
Manolo's bar is definitely a todo del mundo kind of place. A cross section of literally the entire town had come together for Spain's first big day. At least three generations, sharing in the pleasure of a national event unfolding on the big TV in front of them.
As the afternoon wore on, and Spain's chances were continually thwarted, there were many a furrowed brow, shaking of heads, and vocal cries of “!joder!” (no translation for that one), but this was all interspersed by the cheerful gossiping at the tables, the wheezy laugh of the drunk to my left, and the energetic activities of the kids, entertaining the families and anyone who cared to pay them any attention, instead of the football match they'd come to watch.
As it happened, not even good old fashioned togetherness was enough to change Spain's luck that afternoon, but instead of brawling in the streets, the inhabitants of San Pedro strolled along the paseo, and ate ice cream on the terraces. It was nice to see todo del mundo watching their team lose, and remaining cheerful about it.
Credit to Clare Brody and fedegottardo for the images.
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
Chocolate con churros
It's taken me five months to try chocolate con churros. And over two days last week, whilst in the company of French chocolate aficionado, I ended up indulging in this wicked, and most typically Spanish of combinations three times in a row.
Considering the weekend was spent in Granada, the historic capital of the Kingdom of Al Andaluz, the last stronghold of the Muslim's occupation of Spain, and a hotbed of all things arabic in the Peninsula, tea would have been a more appropriate beverage. As it was, my gallic traveling companion could barely function without her thrice daily fix, let alone pass a cafe without being drawn in by the lure of steaming mugs of chocolate.
In Spain, hot chocolate is served thick and gloopy, with a similar texture to custard. The default accompaniment are the deep-fried fingers of dough, drenched in white sugar, known as churros. It's a combination something akin to tea and biscuits in England, chips and mayonnaise in Holland, or grits and gravy in the deep south. Both are good, but the sum is greater than the parts...
After having had a rather gluttonous few months, I had designated my final fortnight as a time to behave myself when it came to idol snacking... My french companion, however, being a few years my junior, and therefore being in possession of a somewhat faster metabolism, had no such reservations...
But anyway, I'm still officially on holiday. The diet can start next week.
(Thanks to oboulko for the foto)
Monday, 14 June 2010
Los olivares
If you would have asked me two weeks ago if I'd like to have my own olive grove sometime, I would have gone misty-eyed at the thought of hazy evenings spent strolling along the terraces, plucking fruits off the trees, and once a year, carting my crop of olives up to the press to make my batch of oil.
Now, after having spent the last ten days or so working at la Finca El Cercardo, I have something of a better idea of exactly what's required for a bumper crop of oil.
El Cercado is situated in the Lecrin Valley, in the foothills of the majestic Sierra Nevada, which tower some two thousand meters above. The finca has two and a half hectares of terraced olive groves, all of which needed to be weeded, strimmed, pruned and cleaned. The process is completely free of chemicals and pesticides, resulting in fabulously smooth, and completely organic oil.
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