Super-cheat´s pissaladiére

I´ve just had a minor epiphany over lunch. Like one does. J´s sister had recommended a new sandwich place in the neighbourhood, so there we went to see if the fuss was justified.
We sat at the bar, and read the paper and sipped icy cañas while they made the sandwiches. In every bar they give you a little something with your drink, some olives or chips. What we got here was so good, so much better than any platonic ideal of any chip or olive or pincho. On the face of it, it was some sort of pissaladiére. However, my keen nose for a shortcut quickly detected the truth. What we are dealing with is a measure of genius of the sort I admire.
This was a torta de aceite of the sort they sell at Viena Lacrem, smeared with a mixture of grated tomato, mashed anchovies and a dash of oregano.
Provided you have ready access to this type of bread, which I think is nothing more sophisticated than a focaccia type of dough that is fried instead of baked, you´re nanoseconds away from heaven.
If not, well, you can make some pizza bases and fry them, of course, but I´m not sure with all that effort the whole thing might become a bit pointless and exponentially less delicious.
You´d be better off sticking with a normal cheat´s pissaladiére, as seen on Lindsay Bareham´s The fish store, or this post of mine from last year.
The sandwiches were excellent, so I´m proud to recommend "El burgado" bocadillería gourmet. c/ Espíritu Santo, 40. 91 521 28 77.
Viena Lacrem, as ever, still reigns supreme over all bakeries in Madrid from its tiny hole-in-the-wall at c/Santa Brígida 6.

Memento

I´m still drawing at a clipping pace, but you´ll be glad to know that so far I´m meeting all deadlines bang on the head. The drawings you see are for the July/August number of Club de Gourmets.
Still, yesterday I was persuaded to go out for lunch. Our friend, Mr.Zagat,or the Artist formerly known as Edu, has recommended yet another winner, Memento.
I was going to start off by saying how annoying I find so many restaurants, but then I decided that it wouldn´t do justice to the place. It´s so good that it would still shine in a city full of Michelin stars.
I loved our lunch so much that I can´t wait to return. Apparently, they change the shortish menu all the time, so I´m thinking I´ll be there next week, before the salmon tartare of my dreams goes out of my life forever.
What I liked best is that all the dishes were the platonic ideal versions of stuff we´ve had before.
Take J. When he asked for gazpacho, I almost shook my head. Gazpacho? When he could have had mussels with chistorra, or a polpetti salad? In a place that advertises New California cuisine? Where the chef is from Wisconsin?But he was right,too. The gazpacho was the best I´ve had in a long long time.
The menu is full of surprises, but they are good. You may ask for the sauteed porcini with poached egg, as I did, only find out once it´s before you that it´s basically a spinach salad. In which the leaves are tiny. Which has been dressed in the kitchen, so that even though it sits prettily on your plate, you´re not left with a splodge on top and dry leaves beneath. And there were crunchy bacon bits all the way down! And this was just the bonus. The actual mushrooms and the egg were to die for, too. I´m telling you, this place is amazing. I could go on and on, but I won´t because I still have lots to do, and I daresay you can do without incoherent and babbly descriptions of tender pork stew, buttery mashed potatoes (mashed potatoes!!!in the country where the side dishes don´t exist!) or crumbly meringue with berries, or I could really go on but I won´t.
Let me just say this, to top it off. The menu was very well written. This may sound like faint praise, but I promise you, menus bring out my inner proof reader, which, combined with my outer pedant, and the fact that I´m usually hungry, make me a monster. And there was a single line to make me scoff. Not one. Bliss.
Memento. C/ Caracas 1. 91 448 99 58

Il Pizzaiolo

I´ve recently been recommended a restaurant, Il Pizzaiolo, and a program, Pages, by my friend Edu, a conoisseur of both. If you want to read my restaurant review, you´ll have to click on the image to read it. I´m in love with software. And I thought I couldn´t get any geekier!

El Rincón

Here´s one of my new favourite places: El Rincón, on Plaza de Juan Pujol. I really like the feel, which is warm and cozy, but without that dark and stuffy feel places can sometimes have. Being on a square, they get plenty of sunlight, but the outside seating is in the shade most of the day, which is very handy for the summer. The music is just what you would play if you were as hip as the waiters there and had a massive CD collection. The beer is per-fect. The food is only so-so, which happens a lot in these places where everyone looks like they´re modeling for Dazed and confused. But it doesn´t really matter. I go there for aperitivos or coffees. It´s a great place to hang out. And as you can see, you can while away the time waiting for your order by sketching on the paper place mats.

Best hot dog in Madrid

I am so happy. So very happy.
I had a hot dog at Nebraska the other day, and it was wonderful. Ring the bells.
You see, Nebraska is a Madrid institution. It´s a bar, coffeeshop, restaurant, whatever, built on the lines of the diners one sees in American films of the 50´s. There are booths, the ceiling is a treasure of patterns in plaster, the waiters have been around since the good old days when you´d run into Ava Gardner or Hemingway staggering in for their six o´clock churros and cognac. And if they haven´t, they look like they have, which is just as good.
I used to go with my father, after the movies, for a nourishing hot dog. This was in the early 80´s, when one would be coming out of Back to the Future, Indiana Jones, or The Goonies. Mythic times, mythic hot dogs.
I never stopped going back for them, but frankly, they weren´t so good. If it hadn´t been for the massive doses of nostalgia, I doubt I could have even swallowed them. The rolls were flabby, they came with chips out of a bag, and to add insult to injury, the ketchup in the little satchets wasn´t Heinz.
Still, I kept at it, because the hot dog was only an excuse to sit and look at the ceiling, the waiters and the milkshake machine, probably smuggled out of Cuba by some sugar-king fleeing Castro in ´59 (and again, if not, who cares?). The clientele, too, is priceless, being a good mix of trendy young types in sunglasses, careful to make it clear that they´ve been partying for 36 hours and need some pancakes to go on ; serious looking old men, widowers, one hopes, treating ladies who work in the streets just behind Gran Vía to sandwiches mixtos ; old ladies having their merienda of coffee and ensaimadas ; a few tourists ; people loaded with bags after trips to Zara and H&M, much in need of restoration. All the world, in fact.
So anyway, I´m now very pleased to report that the hot dogs are as excellent as they ever were, if not better. The rolls are just that blend of chewy and soft, the sausage is cut in two, grilled lightly, and goes with a slice of bacon or ham, some pickles, and their bravas sauce, plus some mayonaise-mustard combo that´s the signature of the place. I always ask for them without the bravas sauce, with ketchup instead, and, yes!, this time it was Heinz. The fries are real fries, hot, and what´s great, it´s not very big, so you can either have two, or, better still, have a milkshake on the side.
Nebraska. Gran Vía 55, 91 547 16 35

The Prince of Noodles

It´s my belief that every person should have a favourite Chinese restaurant in their own neighbourhood. It may not be your favourite Chinese in the city, but it´s the place you go to when you want noodles, want them now, can´t be bothered to open the fridge. It has to be cheap, and it has to be fast. It makes life so much better.

We used to have one like that. It was a tad far away to be considered inside our neighbourhood, but it was only a fifteen minute walk, so it really wasn´t far. It was all the things I said above, and it was also fun. The house speciality were hand made pulled noodles. The chef would stand behind the bar and knead, twirl and pull a bit of dough, flipping and twirling until he had a slithery mass of actual noodles in his hands. Fascinating.

Then one day we sat down at our usual table and everything was different. Instead of bowls, square plates. Instead of the brisk but polite service, a harried push and shove to have us out of the door in ten minutes. The refusal to bring us a jug of tap water (Madrid tap water is excellent) was the last straw. And why? Because on the next table there was a plaque. "The Princes of Asturias dined here". Ha. The heir to the throne went slumming one day, and the next the silly idiots decided they were an upmarket restaurant. Republican bubbles of blood clouding my vision, I paid my bill, and, furious, swore never to return.

Luckily for me, a twin restaurant has opened, nearer my home. It´s charmingly unfussy and the waiters smile, the noodle chef smiles and I smile. Everyone happy, and cravings for those odd-looking, springy, greasy and lipsmacking fresh noodles are only a five minute walk away.
If another royal comes looking for exercise of his droit de seigneur and tries to screw this one up, I´m chaining myself to the door, draped in the purple-red-yellow flag. I don´t care if the place is called the Noodle King. They´re from the People´s Republic of China, right?

Rey de Tallarines. C/ Cardenal Cisneros 33. Metro Bilbao. 91 447 68 28

Kawara

That´s the bill for our lunch last Friday. J is a staunch Katsudon man, always and forever. I usually have the sushi lunch deal, but lately I´ve discovered Nabeyaki. I love it. It comes in a little cast iron pot, which makes for a huge bowl of noodles, in which basically everything nestles. Seaweed, crab, mushrooms, cabbage, fried tempura dough, and a raw egg. It arrives piping hot, the broth clear, the tidbits hidden in the noodles, making it a lot of fun to prise them out one by one, until all that´s left is a little puddle of broth that has become cloudy and mellow. I love it. Kawara´s been supposed to be closing for years now, but is still open. However, every time I go I feel it may be the last, which certainly gives the experience an added kick.