Gastronomy 3: Sevilla

One of our priorities while in Sevilla was to get a taste of the widely reputed Sevillan dishes. I can safely say I am tired of the Madrid pork (they sell every cut you could think of—whole pigs, even, hooves, brains, ears, chunks of skin, bacon, lomo, white strips of fat, every kind of chorizo imaginable—except for the classic American pork chop). I had been told that the vegetables were to be found in the south, that the seafood was killer. So I set about doing a little research.

Many of the drinks of choice are similar to those of Madrid’s: calimochi (red wine mixed with coca-cola), tinto de verano (“red wine of summer” or red wine mixed with sugar and lemon (or as most places do it now, red wine mixed with lemon Fanta)), sangria (red wine mixed with brandy, sugar, and various fruits), cerveza con límon (beer mixed with lemon Fanta), among a small assortment of beers and chilled red wine. The south of Spain, however, is also known for their sherry. They have several popular kinds. We stuck to ordering vino fino, a light, dry white sherry. Once we figured out what we liked, we specifically ordered Manzanilla, which was the driest in our opinion. I have nothing bad to say about these delicious beverages except occasionally one might find a brand that leans to the sweet side. Craig’s student’s, however, insisted that we were CRAZY to drink straight sherry and that it should, of course, be blended with Sprite. I’ve had enough of diluted wine, thankyouverymuch!!!

The first day, we missed lunch. When dinner time finally rolled around about 9:00, I was studying the tour guide’s guide to culinary treasures and was literally salivating at the pictures. The most appealing photo was that of a nice looking stew. Beef, I thought, I need beef!! Upon further reading I found it was ropo de toro, or bull’s tail. Being naïve and enormously hungry, I assumed this was a figurative label, a fun nickname in reference to the Spanish passion for bulls. Three large chunks of meat in sauce were set before us. The first bite was SPECTACULAR! It was similar to pot roast in taste and texture; the meat simply fell off the bone. The, er, pieces of spine, actually. I quickly realized that bull’s tail is not simply a superfluous title. Although I truly enjoyed it, I must admit that after some time of pulling the muscle off the vertebrae my back and my stomach began to hurt.

As an avid olive-lover, I have been searching for the perfect olive in this olive-populated country. As of yet, I have not discovered a single olive that I like. I must emphasize, before coming to Spain, I had never met an olive that I DIDN’T love. The olives (and pickles) here tend to be flavored with anchovies and something I cannot place that is meant to be barbeque flavor. I tried many more in Sevilla, but I sadly admit that the olive quest continues.

We sampled what Craig declared as the best napolitanas Spain has to offer at La Compana, the café we haunted each morning for cafés con leche. Craig is particularly infatuated with these sweet pastries. They are similar to the French “pain chocolate” and are essentially a croissant-like pastry rolled around or injected with chocolate sauce.

We refreshed our palates with a good old-fashioned Budweiser when we wandered by a welcome sign that read: SEC Championship Alabama vs. Florida! The Texas Lone Star Bar, so it was proclaimed, welcomed us with open arms and we chatted with Florida fans and watched Spaniards eat cheeseburgers the size of dinner plates. It is a strange feeling, sitting in the south of Spain in a pub at three in the morning, listening to a mixture of languages buzzing around you and watching, of all things, American college football. Despite the fun of it, it was a sad night for Alabamians!

After two days of goat-cheese-stuffed-mushroom tapas, pan con tomate, sole with belle femme sauce, patatas ali-oli, fresh-squeezed orange juice, good coffee and wine, the straw that broke the camel’s back proved to be Adobo Sevillana, which, the waiter told us, is fried fish. Indeed. The entire fish, specifically, bones, skin, etc, cut in chunks, tossed in meal and fried. This was actually quite delicious, but difficult to eat if you don’t want to swallow the entire skeletal system. Thus, I only partook in only a partial portion. This is what saved me, I believe, from the bout of food poisoning-ish flu Craig woke up with the next morning. The paella and sangria were skipped as we instead sipped 7-Up and made our way back to the bus station for a lunch of potato chips and dried nuts.

All in all we did not run into many vegetables and the pork was still #1 on the menu every time. But it was refreshing to snack on seafood that isn't fried calamari rings or the octopus that is so beloved in Madrid. I can't wait to return south and continue my gastronomical exploration!

Holiday in Sevilla

Here in the Kingdom of Spain, December 8 was el Día de la Constitucíon, or Constitution Day, and December 10 was the celebration of the Inmaculada Concepción (the Feast of the Immaculate Conception). These two holidays are both special in their own right, and extraordinarily different. The contrasts are relatively obvious: namely, one is political and the other is religious.

Some form of the Day of the Constitution is celebrated in most countries across the globe. I believe this day holds special significance for each nation, depending on their history. In Spain, it seems to be particularly impacting due to their highly tumultuous history. In 1975 General Franco, the nation’s dictator, finally died. What followed was a difficult period of transition as his heir went about reforming the country. On December 8, 1978, the Spanish Constitution was finalized and approved.

A great population of Spanish citizens remembers the oppression of their dictatorship, and they truly value the constitution and all it stands for. I’m not so sure that’s the case in the rest of the nations in this world.

The Feast of the Immaculate Conception (reserved to honor the Virgin Mary’s sinless existence and the conception of Jesus Christ) is celebrated throughout many Catholic populations in the world. Besides Spain, it is celebrated in Argentina, Austria, Chile, Italy, Nicaragua, Paraguay, Peru, Portugal, Malta, and is recognized in many other nations.

But this blog is not intended to discuss the historical meaning and cultural impact of these holidays. It is meant to celebrate this fact: in the year 2008, these holidays straddled a Sunday, and I got a three day weekend.

Craig and I knew we wanted to take advantage of the break since we have had no time to travel thanks to our six-day-a-week schedule. Unfortunately this rigorous schedule left little time to plan our escape from Alcalá. This is how we ended up rushing to pack after class on Friday night, rushing to catch a train to Madrid, and rushing to board a bus to Sevilla.

Instead of sleeping like I should have been, I excitedly watched the thermometer at the head of the bus creep up from 5 degrees Celsius. Six degrees and six hours later, with plenty of time to catch the sunrise, we found ourselves walking along a foreign river, watching the youth emerge from bars and head home. Sevilla is beautiful. It is the Spain I have been missing! We allowed ourselves to act as tourists for the first time since arriving in this country, and it was fantastic. We waited in an hour long line to peruse the royal palace, sampled a few Sevillan specialties, took 230 photos, drank assorted types of sherry and freshly squeezed orange juice, ducked into the cathedral to gawk during mass, found a low-key flamenco show. Sevilla’s cardinal was in town to give mass and take part in the procession, so we got to see him close up and personally.

Unfortunately, it rained the entire weekend. Our feet stayed wet for days, and then Craig ended up sick with a stomach flu/food poisoning/some mysterious Sevillan tourist illness. But nothing could take away from the wonder of the weekend. It was AWESOME!


You think I'm kidding about taking 230 photos, don't you? I'm not. See my Picasa album for the goodies; the link is on the right.

More Weather Games

I have no proof, I have no pictures; I have only wet laundry and chilled toes; it snowed today. It did not stick to the ground, of course, but it was genuine snow, falling from the sky. In Spain. In Autumn.

I AM being mocked!

Thanksgiving, Expat Style

(Pictured here: Carlos, Isaac (our roommate), Ana, and Natalie.

(Pictured here: Blake, Lauren, and the Spanish Turkey.

As Thanksgiving is unfortunately not recognized as a work holiday in Spain, I had to work all day long on the 27th of November. So, we tackled a delayed dinner this weekend.

Craig and I discovered a store in Madrid called, no joke, "The American Store," where we were able to find (outrageously expensive) canned pumpkin pie filling and cranberry sauce (because, it just wouldn't be Thanksgiving without a bowl of canned cranberry sauce that nobody touches). At the Corte Ingles, a large department and grocery store chain here in Spain, we were able to find 4 dusty, unripe little sweet potatoes, some salted pecans, and, lo and behold, tucked in amongst the sheep brains and cow tongues, a turkey!

After the initial shock of paying 70 euro for the bird (granted, it WAS 19 lbs) we were faced with a slew obstacles: missing ingredients, oven malfunctions, a shortage of dishes, too-old yeast, a kitchen too cold for the bread dough to rise, conversion issues, a broken refrigerator, no storage space, no roasting pans, dull knives. Poor Craig was sent to the store no less than four times as our tiny, freezing kitchen was transformed into a laboratory of Thanksgiving experimentation. I wanted to make my family's traditional cornbread and sausage stuffing, but what to do without Jimmy Dean and Jiffy? We had our pie filling, but how to make pie without pie pans? What to do when your oven reads only 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 instead of degrees? Our Southern friend Lauren and I worked most of the day in the kitchen, checking the not-so-successfully-rising bread dough, greasing pans with butter and our fingertips instead of non-stick cooking spray, inventing new twists on our American family recipes.

We ended up with a spectacular feast that any American would be happy to partake in, particularly an American missing a holiday exclusive to our country—or their Spanish friends that want to try to understand the appeal of turkey and stuffing. We had a lovely, juicy turkey thanks to Lauren and Blake, the closest version of Momma’s stuffing I could fix, mashed potatoes (hand-squished with a fork by Craig), mushroom gravy, sweet potato casserole, fruit salad, yeast rolls, green bean casserole (brought by our American friend Natalie), cranberry sauce straight out of the can, my (pretty darn impressive) pumpkin pies, brownies (again, brought by Natalie via posted brownie mix straight from the states), lemon and chocolate cake homemade by our Spanish friend, Ana, lots of wine from our Spanish guests, and sweet tea!

It tasted like home.

To help us celebrate, we tried to watch American football. Unfortunately, we could not get the Alabama/Auburn game on the internet. This was especially sad because we actually had a graduate from each school here in our Spanish apartment! We were able to watch a few other games, though, and the SEC spirit ran hot through the piso. We did track the AL/AUB game online, and we are very pleased with the results. Roll Tide!


Happy Belated Thanksgiving to all, from Spain!