Back from Estonia

What does a person do on returning from the perfect holiday? If you can´t look out at the garden that ends in the sea, or watch the birds as you eat your just-picked wild raspberries?
The best trick is to go straight to normal life, and do things you couldn´t do during the perfect holiday.
With that healthy idea in mind, I´ve gone straight to the market and bought peaches, little sweet green plums, and half a melon. Doesn´t quite make up for paradise lost, but does make one happy about being so far south.
And I was very good, and didn´t burst into tears when I say the little punnet of overpriced, tasteless raspberries.
Still and all, glad to be back. This is just to promise watercolour sketches of Estonia, and details about berries, mushrooms, moose, and more.

We´re off to the Baltic

J and I are currently surrounded by suitcases, boots, swimming costumes, maps, rain-gear, books and towels. Tomorrow we´re leaving for Estonia, and we couldn´t be more excited.Last year we loved it, but it was a whirlwind tour. This time we´ve rented a cottage by the sea in Saaremaa, one of the islands. I think pretty much anyone would find them beautiful, but to us, in a Madrid that is dry and baking and just downright unpleasant, it´s paradise, pure and simple.People always ask me, how on earth did you hit on the idea of going there? I think, maybe, blame it on Carl Larsson . Yes, I know he´s Swedish, but to us here on the tip of Africa, it´s all one same world of pine forests, icy lakes and "beware elk" signs.

Also, I´ll be meeting one of my favourite bloggers, Pille of Nami-nami. She´s without a doubt the most hospitable person I know, and will not only be putting us up in Tallinn, but actually taking us on a wild mushroom and cloudberry hunt on Saturday. See what I mean? About paradise? The mere idea of a berry or a mushroom in August is like jumping into a pool. As for J, he is beside himself, and once again taking on an uncanny resemblance to a spring lamb on acid.

And the food there? For that you´ll have to go to Pille´s blog. I can´t tell you too much from past experience. This is no fault of the local cuisine, but of what may be called SAS or Spaniard Abroad Syndrome. It goes something like this.
Your average Spaniard wakes up somewhere averagely foreign, somewhat later than usual. She (or he) is confronted by a buffet breakfast. He (this is definitely a he) will pile his plate with three types of eggs, several sausages, some strips of bacon and seventeen croissants. She will painstakingly go trhough every pastry/bread/cereal/fruit/juice tray, and try every single one.
They will emerge with somewhat dazed expressions and begin to tour, as tourists will. Now it so happens that everywhere else lunch is at 1230 or 1. But in Spain it is 230 or 3. And since they´re so full anyway, these two will say, oh, never mind that now. But of course by mid-afternoon they´re very hungry. And of course by then no restaurants are open.
And so your sufferers of SAS will most likely end up at around 5 in some café, wolfing down pancakes or pastries or whatever they can find. And when the foreign dinner time rolls around, it´s the same old story. By the time they want food at 10, what´s open? These SAS idiots have several beers, go to bed hungry and tipsy, and you better beleive that they won´t be skipping breakfast.

I hope that this year we´ll adapt to local custom. For one thing, we´ll make our own breakfast in the cottage, and for another, I´ve been learning a lot about Estonian food in Pille´s blog, so I have a list of stuff I want to try.
I might post from there, but probably I´ll be too busy with the dolce far niente thing, so if I don´t see you til August 20, have a great time.

Melons

"Por la mañana, oro, por la tarde, plata, y por la noche, mata". This rather alarming proverb translates loosely as "gold in the morning, silver at midday, killing at night", and is supposed to be advice on eating melons. I don´t know why they´re so indigestible at night, but there you go.
I went to the market this morning to find it almost shuttered, nearly every stall having a printed notice to the effect that they´ll be back at some point.It´s not quite compensation for not being on holiday yet, but it was nice to buy a beautiful half melon, and some peaches, and it´s been a lovely breakfast.

Pasta alla bottarga

Summer. It kind of gets to you, in the end, doesn´t it? You may try to bumble along happily, pretending it´s not here, but before you know it, it will get you in the neck, nastily.
Forgive the hiatus, but really, these temperatures have made anything other than opening the fridge an utopia. Likewise, the computer keys smoke. However, since I´ll be in Estonia by Friday, I´ve taken heart.
Here´s a recipe very suited to summer. Pasta alla bottarga is one of those winners, pasta recipes that can be made while the pasta boils.
Even if it´s just pasta, it can´t fail to be impressive. Bottarga, the dried roe of red tuna, is so exotic, so thorougly mediterranean chic, and so expensive and hard to find, that you have an instant high-impact-low-effort classic on your hands.
I suggest that you attempt this only in case of having recently come into an inheritance, or if some kind friend has recently been to Cádiz and has picked up some of the stuff.
Once home, a piece no bigger than a zippo lighter is enough to feed four, so it´s not so bad.
You just need to peel and grate that piece into a bowl. Cover it with about a half cup of the best olive oil. Chop a bunch of parsely, crush a couple of dried chillies, and add them, together with some grated pepper. Salt need not apply, yet. Leave it to infuse for a little while, half an hour or so.
Then boil your pasta ( I think 500 gr. for 4, but you be the judge). Flat shapes optional, long non-negotiable, and don´t even think about parmesan. When al dente, toss into the bowl, mix well, and check for salt and oil. It may not look like much sauce, but the bottarga is so strong that the little pieces of oily roe clinging to the pasta will be more than enough. A little green salad after this goes down a treat. And if you happen to have any leftovers, it´s also great cold.

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.

Salpicón: seafood salad

Salpicón is one of the best things of the summer. It´s more of a bar food, of the sort that nestles in chilled trays on the bar. If you´re lucky, it will have whatever caught the cook´s fancy that morning at the market. If not, it´ll have been made on Monday with the sweepings of the fridge, and will have languished ever since. Caveat emptor.
In theory, salpicón is a vinaigrette made with three parts olive oil to one of sherry vinegar, and peppers, onions and parsley, chopped very small. Maybe tomato, too, and probably chopped egg ( I told you it was everywhere).
In practice, it´s more of a salad. The chopped vegetables make a substantial base note for a star ingredient, whichever it may be. The most typical is a mixture of seafood, prawns, mussels, octopus. Lobster, maybe, at the top end of the scale, surimi at the bottom. With potatoes, it becomes ensalada campera, or papas aliñás, and is one of the best possible potato salads, I think.
Fish roe is also a favourite, or beans, or salt cod. The variations are almost endless. Just walk into a bar, ask what aliño they have, and have a tapa sent round with your beer. It´s wonderful, and unique in the Spanish canon in its overall healthiness and lack of pig-parts.

Salpicón
Mince two shallots, finely dice one big red pepper, chop a good fistful of parsley leaves. The tomatoes don´t have to be as finely diced. Mix these with the 3/1 olive oil and sherry vinegar , and leave to mingle. Yes, the tomato will make a lot of liquid, but don´t we all love our pot likker?
Make a couple of boiled eggs using the 12 minute method. Thanks to everyone who left it in my comments box. I am a born-again boiled egg lover.
The seafood can be whatever you have on hand. Leftover crab, maybe, or a can of good tuna or sardines, or around 250 gr. steamed prawns. Whatever suits you best. I also love it over beans. In fact, I made salpicón to trick out this recipe from Mark Bittman´s 101 from last week´s NYT.
4 Open a can of white beans and combine with olive oil, salt, small or chopped shrimp, minced garlic and thyme leaves in a pan. Cook, stirring, until the shrimp are done; garnish with more olive oil.
I found it a bit bland, but left to cool, and then mixed with the salpicón and a couple of tomatoes, it was beyond delicious.
The only important rule you should never forget is to mix it a few hours ahead, and leave it in the fridge, well covered, so that flavours have time to mingle. And eat it in the day. It´s meant to be super-fresh and crunchy.

Weekend stuff

I´m going away again. J´s grandmother turns eighty, so we´ll be in Jerez, celebrating the occasion with elegant furore.
Since I don´t want you to suffer in the July heat, I´ll remind you of a very easy, very chic, very refreshing dish that takes three minutes to put together:melon soup.

Pa amb tomàquet: Catalan tomato bread

Now, now, don´t you all start grumbling. I know what you´re going to say. Where does she get off, telling us how to rub tomato on a piece of bread? And, also, that´s some nerve, writing about Catalan tomato bread from enemy territory. Madrid, no less!
Well, you´ll have to forgive me. And catalanes won´t mind, I´m sure. Intercity and sporting rivalry nonwithstanding, even the most diehard madrileño will admit that when it comes to bread and tomatoes, they´re the best. We´ll argue Gaudí, and the beach, and the football, but not the pantumaca.
I learnt how to make pa amb tomàquet in Florence, Italy. Silly, no? I was doing a watercolour course there, and the school arranged accomodation with us. By chance, one of our flatmates was from Barcelona. She it was who initiated me.
I´d spend every morning going to all the galleries and the churches, trying to not wilt in the humid heat, and the afternoon drawing. Our evening ritual was to sit chatting in the shady garden and go through whole bags of tomatoes.
In Sevilla, where I lived then, toast with tomato is made by dousing a piece of bread with olive oil, topping it with slices of tomato, and sprinkling some salt.
The Catalan way is different.It only works with the best, ripest summer tomatoes, so don´t even bother otherwise. And yes, go right ahead and rub garlic first if you like. I think that calls for prior negotiations with everyone in the house, but each to their own.
So, what happens is, the tomato is cut in half , squeezed to let excess juice out, and then rubbed on the bread. Then, and listen up, because I found this pretty strange, you sprinkle the salt. And only at the end do you pour a trickle of olive oil on top. This way, the bread soaks up mostly tomato juice, the salt is quickly absorbed by the tomato, and the little oil sits on top, making all look glossy and beautiful. It´s healthier, and well in keeping with the Catalan tradition of thrift and good graphic design.
Marta, my friend from Barna, who will be on the receiving end of any indignant emails from her native land, also taught me the cheat´s method.
You take the tomatoes, cut them in two, grate them so that you just have pulp in a bowl. Then you salt and oil that, and put it on a table with the bread. People just spread the tomato when they want the bread, and it doesn´t go soggy. With a tortilla, or some jamón or caña de lomo, or tuna, it´s the perfect food for watching a Madrid-Barça match.
And if you´re thinking I´m going to say may the best team win, you´re outta your mind.

Archaeological food: mojama

Here´s one of my favourite all-time tapas, mojama . I love it for its own sake, but even more I love it for the sense of history I get every time I take a bite.
I know it´s silly and snobbish, and that I should feel the same way with bread, or olive oil. But they´re things I´ve been seeing every day of my life, whereas mojama is a bit of an acquired taste, and I acquired it only a few years ago.

Being the salted and dried loin of tuna, it´s very strong. And salty. And dry. I´m sure you guessed that.
In Madrid it seems to be the specialty of a few cervecerías of the old school, where they pull the beer in small, perfect icy cañas with a creamy foam. One bite of the salty mojama is enough to make you order seven cañas, at the very least, so it´s good for business.
They serve it cut in very thin slices, fanned out on a plate, with a few just-toasted almonds, hot from the pan, and a drizzle of the best olive oil. See what I mean? Doesn´t that feel like an illustration of Mediterranean life BC? Don´t you see Dido having a salty snack among the ruins of Cartague?
Provided you can find the mojama, it´s a very easy and impressive aperitivo to serve to guests. Just make sure that you toast the almonds carefully, without adding oil, as theirs will come to the surface in the hot pan. And don´t add salt, on pain of serious dehydration.

Boiled eggs

Hard-boiled eggs. What a hundrum subject, no? Is there anywhere in the world where people don´t boil eggs? I doubt it. But, is there anywhere where they eat as many boiled eggs as we do in Spain? Still doubting.

I´d never given this subject much thought. Then once, over the course of the same week, three people from three different countries said to me "oh, you Spanish and your eggs. You´re obsessed. You put eggs in everything".
If Freud spoke Spanish (and were alive, of course) he´d utter a very loud Aha! at that. For in Spanish eggs are balls. So you could argue that it´s all some macho plot. Or else you could be sensible, and say that eggs are cheap protein, and this has always been a poor, hungry country.

But still, that can´t be all. It just doesn´t make sense that vegetables are always eaten with some form of egg on them. And that hard boiled eggs make their way onto every surface, from salads to soups to sandwiches vegetales to tapas of garbanzos. It´s a joke. I don´t mind a boiled egg every now and then, but I think one must draw the line at considering them a sort of complement to salt and pepper.

To my mind, the worst insult is the dish referred to as huevos a la bandera española, or Spanish flag eggs. It consists of hard boiled eggs, hollowed, filled with whatever you can come by, smothered in bechamel, and then covered with two wide bands of tomato sauce, and a middle band of the chopped yolks.
This is clearly the invention of some separatist republican who could think of nothing worse to do to the flag. Burning one is kinder to the national symbol, I promise. Served hot, these eggs achieve the texture of the costliest rubber. Quite a feat.

Actually, the colour scheme might improve if people didn´t spoil the whole concept by doing what I beleive in technical terms is called "boiling them to buggery". Who wants a pale yellow yalk neatly ringed by grey? Come on, people! It´s grey! The only time that´s acceptable in food is in caviar. Really.

I don´t boil eggs very often, and so every time I have to look up the method. This annoys me, so I´m going to see if by writing it here, I can imprint it on my mind.

If the egg is cold from the fridge, put it in when the water is cold. If not, lower it carefully when the water comes to the boil. Once the thing is at a rolling boil, count the minutes. I think five is good for soft boiled, six should do it so it won´t be runny , and (update) eight for a firm one you can use in a sandwich.
Nigella says to put in a matchstick in the water so that the shell doesn´t crack. I don´t know if that works, but I think it´s fun.